


Summersoul

by Metronomeblue



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen is Not Nice, Arc welding, Arrancar Arc, Arrancar Mythology, Bad Parenting, Bankai Troubles, Brother-Sister Relationships, But whatever, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Hisana gets to kick some ass, Ice Powers, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, More Girls 2k17, Natsumi just wants to go home, Orihime Makes a Friend, Reconciliation, Reincarnation, Reunions, Sister-Sister Relationship, Soul King mythology, Szayel Aporro literally makes me want to gag, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is so Heterosexual, Time Skips, Turn Back The Pendulum, Ulquiorra Makes a Friend, because im shifty and I never finished reading the manga, i took some stuff and ran with it, if nobody comments soon i'm going to feel like im writing for nobody, im kind of surprised tbh, kind of, thats not relevant i just felt like it has to be said, which will be sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 16:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronomeblue/pseuds/Metronomeblue
Summary: A damsel (badass) in distress, an angry (hopeless) shinigami, a ruthless (loyal) killer, a failed (failed?) espada, and a sweet (godlike) redhead.(You meet in a jail cell.)It's been a century since Aizen set his plans in motion- a century since half the power structure of the Gotei Thirteen collapsed. Those plans were, until now, a secret. But Aizen has gathered an army, taken the steps he needed to, kidnapped the necessary teenagers, challenged the people he needs to die. All in all, it seems like a fairly complete plan. He can sit back and watch the world burn. Or so he assumes. (Wrongly, as it happens.)Aizen's complexity addiction comes back to bite him in the ass when loose ends from a hundred years ago meet the aforementioned kidnapped teenager.(Starts in TBTP era, crosses into HM arc and follows through to the end of the Deicide arc)





	1. Prelude: what you wish for

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Eyes of Summer](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/277284) by Metronomeblue. 
  * Inspired by [Swinging Pendulum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855577) by [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross). 



> So, once upon a time when I was eleven, I thought I was a fucking literary genius and wrote a pretty contrived, somewhat love-triangle-centric fanfic.
> 
> Fast forward many years and I'm revisiting some story notes. I find that this story could, actually, be pretty easily reworked into something decent- I did actually have a pretty good plot, even if I didn't use it to its full potential, and my central OC is actually a well-rounded character, even if I didn't show it too well. And not to mention my writing skills have undoubtedly improved, because, again, I was a dumb middle schooler. 
> 
> So TL;DR- This is a rewrite of "The Eyes of Summer," which is on fanfiction dot net if you feel like torturing yourself with my terrible past writings for a laugh.
> 
> I've also put down that this was inspired by "Swinging Pendulum" which is honestly one of the best fanfics I've ever read for any fandom, and heavily influenced how I deal with Soul Society as a whole, as well as how I see certain characters. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND it. It hasn't been updated in years, and is likely abandoned, but that doesn't stop it from being worth a read. Or six, in my case. I keep rereading it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as of 5-9-17  
> now edited!!!!
> 
> Beginning of Arc One: Halcyon Summer

_ ~*~ _

_ Dream on these days for the rest of your life. Dream, for they will not come again. _

_~*~_

He met her in the street, in front of his shop where no human would be. Not that they would have had a choice- there were no humans in this fake Karakura. She didn't say a word for a good five minutes, just staring at his face and counting the changes. He did the same. They were unmoving, just watching as the quiet stretched between them, the faint echoes of fighting reaching them as though from underwater. It wasn't in either of their natures to fill silences, not really. He sighed, tugging his hat down over his eyes. She nodded at him, sad but understanding, and then began to walk away. She didn't have to say it- he knew what she had come to ask and his silence had been an answer. But he had other things to say.   
  
"You can't fight Aizen!" The shopkeeper called after her, voice echoing thinly in the empty street. "You know you can't even go near him like this!"   
  
"I think we're a little past that," the girl (a woman now, he supposed, she'd been a woman when he'd seen her last, but so kind and so painfully young he wanted her to have been a girl) called over her shoulder, not even pausing to turn back. There was a hint of cheerless smile in her voice, as if something was particularly unfunny. “And in any case, I fixed that particular problem a while ago.” Her hand strayed to her waist, a place between stomach and ribcage that he knew carried a long scar.

"If Aizen catches even a hint of your reiatsu, you know he'll-" She laughed, louder this time, bitterly, abruptly, and cut him off. She turned, shaking her head ruefully.

  
"He already knows, Kisuke. He's known for a hundred years." She looked back at him, scuffing one shoe on the cement. “Aw hell, Kisuke.” She laughed again, brokenly. “He's always known. He's just too damn stupid to understand.”

  
"After the sacrifices you've made, after everything you've done..." Urahara paused, looking as though he should be twisting his striped hat in his hands. "Natsumi..." she nodded, still refusing to look back at him.   
  
"Believe me," she replied, the strain in her voice snapping taut. "I know."   
  
"So you're giving up? Natsumi, you've always been a lot of things, but you were never weak." He searched her, traced her stiffened shoulders, the angry twist of her mouth.   
  
"I'm not giving up." She straightened up at that, sharply, to look him in the eye. "I'm giving in." She spread her arms out wide, took a few slow steps backwards. "Aizen is going to get what he wants."   
  
"You don't have to do this," Urahara told her, half pleading and half acceptance, something in his tone she couldn't read.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I think I do.” She just kept walking, never looking ahead, her eyes locked on his. They had changed, over the century they'd been apart. He'd grown more pedestrian, softened by his life among the humans. She hadn't. Her eyes were colder now, more hopeless. More hard. Still beautiful, he'd admit. Still soft in her sadness and her love, but something harsh was lurking there, a darkness Aizen, no doubt, had grown in her soul.   
  
Only when she was too far for his eyes to catch the color of hers did she turn. She kept walking.

The songs of war echoed in the street.


	2. 108 Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story starts in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the ff.net story, Natsumi is just some girl in the forest, but, like, that would in no way fly with the soul society peeps, so in this much more conscientious version, she's a recent graduate of the academy. bc that's how the whole thing about having rules works. funny, right?
> 
> edited as of 5-9-17!!

About a century ago:   
  


The central courtyard of the Gotei Thirteen was generally a quiet place. It contained several benches, lovely groupings of trees, and various neatly swept paths on which to traverse the entirety of Seireitei.

Not so on this particular morning.

With only a few weeks until graduation, Shin Ō Academy had declared (with no small amount of prompting from the Captain Commander himself) that all recruits were to present some kind of show of skills for all the Captains and Lieutenants. The Captain Commander had told them to meet in the courtyard, where they were then to proceed into the Academy grounds for the ‘exhibition’.

  
"We're being called!" Hiyori screeched from the roof, where she had perched to watch her fellows arrive. Shunsui flinched on instinct and looked up, startled. He wasn't the only one; several of the other captains slouched (Shinji), strode (Yoruichi) or tripped (Urahara) into the square.   
  
"We're being called where, pipsqueak?" Shinji asked lackadaisically, scratching the side of his head. Hiyori's eye twitched.    
  
"Call me that again, baldy," she hissed, winding up to hurl herself forward, and Ukitake, who had just come through the gate, had to grab the back of her haori as she descended to stop her from taking his head off.   
  
"Hiyori-san," he said quietly, still holding a squirming mass of angry blonde captain in one hand, "perhaps we might refrain from such violence at this hour?"   
  
Hiyori shot him an unamused look. "Violence is for every hour," she said dryly. Shinji snickered, then ducked down when she once again fixed him with a fierce scowl.   
  
"Captain?" Aizen asked politely, simultaneously surprised and not by the scene before him. It had grown familiar over the years. Shinji reached out one arm to stab two fingers into his lieutenant's ribs, but he managed to dodge. "I believe we were supposed to be discussing the matter of the new recruits? Or have we put that discussion on hold?"   
  
Hiyori, still hanging like a particularly wet kitten from Ukitake's steady hand, rolled her eyes. "Some hot-headed, arrogant newbies who're gonna get themselves killed. What does it matter?"   
  
"I remember saying the same thing about you," Yoruichi muttered sarcastically, drawing an undignified snort from Aizen.   
  


“Goyonagi said to keep an eye on some of ‘em,” Shinji shrugged. “Apparently some Takanayo kid is doin’ pretty well for herself.”

“Yeah, but, why do I care?” Hiyori protested, squirming. “What does any of this matter?”

  
"Well it matters that we don't let her get herself killed, first of all," Urahara drawled, sweeping into the fray, and Hiyori nearly flung herself at him, hissing and spitting. He merely grinned back at her. "She might be familiar to you- her brother was the first lieutenant of Seventh Division."   
  
"Takanayo had a sister?" Ukitake asked, with no small amount of surprise. “He never said.” In his hand, Hiyori folded her arms, resigning herself to the fact that her Captain was out of hitting range and making a decidedly unfriendly picture. 

"She's probably just some kid." Kyoraku and Ukitake did their level best to suppress identical smiles, while Yoruichi and Shinji traded a look.    
  
"But that's just you," Lisa said, slightly accusingly. "You're just describing you." Hiyori's eye twitched. Shinji snorted. Aizen bit his lip to keep from laughing.   
  
"What are you idiots doing now?" Kensei asked, more than a little exasperation in his tone. "And what are you doing with Hiyori, Ukitake?"   
  
The other Captain simply shrugged, his pale hand still suspending the lieutenant in midair.    
  
"I believe it's called 'babysitting,'" Yoruichi snickered, getting herself another glare from Hiyori and a giggle from Kyoraku.

“Like I was saying,” Hiyori huffed, as though she wasn’t being dangled three feet above the ground like a wet kitten. “We’re being called to see the new graduates. Some kind of recruiting thing.”

“Ugh,” Shinji groaned, squinting up at the sun. “You mean we have to care about this?”

“Unfortunately,” Yoruichi snorted.    
Kensei rolled his eyes and smacked Hiyori on the back hard enough to dislodge her from Ukitake’s grip.

  
“Get a move on,” he called to the others as they followed him. “We should be on time for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I originally lied and said i was going to try to post every day, but then I got caught up writing some of the later scenes and rewriting my orginal plot bc i'd had a much better idea, so that.... isnt happening. I do think it will end up being completed much faster than some of my other work because i've had such a clear vision for it.


	3. Approach to a Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things escalate very quickly and Natsumi is annoyed already

The airing of recent graduates’ skills for the benefit of the Captains was a practice only recently developed, and Natsumi thought, walking past a group of students arguing about whose Bankai was going to be stronger, that it very much  _ showed. _ Nobody had any real idea what they were doing- several cadets were jousting with their sheathed swords, others were sparring a little too ferociously. At that thought, a sword went flying past her ear and she was forced to duck. 

“Sorry!” A young woman yelled, waving apologetically. Natsumi waved back, grimacing sympathetically. They hadn’t been given any plan for this, had simply been told to show off their skills on the fields. Congregating in groups had only shown this lack of direction even more clearly.

It was of note, however, that as she proceeded towards the center of the field, the recruits grew more and more focused, more talented- even more attractive in some cases. She didn’t fit in at the unfocused edge, and she certainly didn’t fit in at the center. It was… frustrating. Natsumi may not have known what she was, but she sure as hell knew what she was not, and she was not like these people.

Natsumi Takanayo was not the best of the graduates. She wasn’t the prettiest, the strongest, the smartest. She had no natural talent. No ease with her zanpakuto- if anything, a lack thereof. Her timidity and quiet manners cut her out of Eleventh Division’s ranks almost immediately, her willingness to bend the rules exiling her from the Second before it even looked her way. Watching Captains Kenpachi and Shihoin walk amongst the graduates, she felt a sudden stab of shame. She sighed and turned away from the more dedicated graduates- she’d only distract them. She was always something of an outlier, and it was a terrible talent to have when looking for a place to belong.

Especially at that very moment, she realized, looking up to find herself face-to-face with the Lieutenant Captain of the Twelfth Division.

“I am so sorry,” she said, eyes wide with shock and slight fear. “Lieutenant Sarugaki, I didn’t even notice you, I’m so clumsy, I’m so sorry-” Hiyori huffed, raising herself to her full height, opening her mouth as if to lambast the girl verbally and physically, only to be cut off.

“Don’t bother,” a man behind her snorted. She spun around, twice as flustered as before. There was, she found with no small amount of exasperation and humiliation, an array of Captains and Lieutenants, headed by those of the Fifth Division. Captain Hirako was smirking, something familiar in fond in his eyes as he watched them. Lieutenant Aizen looked on calmly, slight concern and honest amusement warring in a face that Natsumi warmed to immediately. It was soft around the edges, her eyes filling in pieces of him as if she’d known him all her life. It was both disconcerting and comforting at once. The others behind them had varied expressions ranging from amusement and concern to exasperation and weariness.

“I’m going to fight you,” Hiyori growled, and Natsumi took a full step back.

“Please don’t,” she appealed, holding up her hands to placate the irate blonde. 

“I’m going to duel you, then. Winner is the Lieutenant.” Hiyori, it seemed, had no idea how to do anything without undue dramatics. Shinji’s grin could probably grow legs and eyes at this point, it was so big. The recruit’s apologetic grimace suddenly dropped into a perturbed frown. “You’re going down, twig face.”

“I  _ don’t want _ your job,” Natsumi protested, sounding more annoyed than apologetic for the first time that day. “And I don’t actually want to fight you, either. This is all getting seriously out of hand.”

“Too late. It’s done. Can’t back out now,” Shinji cut in genially, as if he had the nerve to enjoy her humiliation. Natsumi narrowed her eyes at him. He raised his eyebrows, and she scowled. He found it kind of cute. 

“I’m sure,” she replied tartly. She crossed her arms and looked back at Hiyori. “I’ll fight you, but the only thing on the line is our dignity, deal?” Hiyori’s face split open in a savage grin, and Natsumi felt rather afraid for her life. Oh well. She might as well go all in now, what with her imminent death.

No, she was far from the most ideal candidate for any job. But nevertheless, following a strange sequence of events which included no less than three attempted murders, two duels to the (near) death, and a couple disastrous meditation sessions, she would become the co-Lieutenant of Fifth Division. Improbable, unexpected, but not impossible.

  
This would, Shinji found, be something of the norm with Natsumi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I'm not saying that Natsumi and Hiyori are the reason this kind of exhibition free-for-all never happened again, but I am saying that chaos is a very good motivator for rapid change. Also, that Natsumi's average-ness is actually plot-relevant. I'm very proud of that.


	4. The night (day) in question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'They worked out the terms of the duel the next day, Urahara trailing his Lieutenant into the Academy dormitory like a cautiously optimistic and slightly exasperated shadow.'
> 
> The Duel, and all that concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo longgggg

They worked out the terms of the duel the next day, Urahara trailing his Lieutenant into the Academy dormitory like a cautiously optimistic and slightly exasperated shadow. 

“Captain Urahara! Lieutenant Sarugaki!” Akio sputtered, eyes wide as saucers and just as pale. “What a surprise!”

“Not really,” Gisane snickered, sweeping out of the dorm and brushing past the officers. “We all know who Takanayo’s getting her ass kicked by!” She called as she made her way to the classroom buildings. Natsumi scowled and stood from where she'd been reading on her bed.

“It's okay,” she said quietly, pressing a hand to her other roommate’s arm and pulling her away from the doorway. “It's probably a good time to go talk to Mako.” The pale girl nodded furiously and stuttered out a goodbye as she stumbled through the small group at her door. Hiyori and Urahara made their way inside after that, the former sprawling in the chair by Gisane’s desk and the latter standing awkwardly by the door.

Natsumi made no move to speak first, a breach of protocol that Akio would probably harangue her for later. She took the awkward moment to study her guests. Hiyori was as confident and unconcerned as she had been the other day, all frown and narrowed eyes. Urahara looked less at ease than the day before, but curiously less burdened, as well. It was as if he was more comfortable officiating ill-advised duels between subordinates than he was actually  _ treating _ them like subordinates.

“Hey, brat,” Hiyori called lazily from Gisane’s chair. Natsumi started, straightening on instinct.

“Miss Takanayo,” he said, and she got the strangest feeling that he should have a hat to tip, just there in the space between that demure greeting and nervous smile, like he was only half-convinced he was a Captain and still felt like a jailer.

It was an eerie and unwelcome feeling that skittered across her mind like precognition and regret, and for a moment Natsumi couldn't remember her name or what she was doing there because she  _ knew _ he should have a hat with green and white stripes and she didn't know how she knew, but it terrified her that she did. She wanted this whole affair done and over with so that she could disappear into the unranked masses of some Division, and never have to deal with Lieutenant Sarugaki ever again in her life. Or at least, she prayed that was how things were going to go. She'd be royally screwed if it wasn't. 

“When we were told to watch you, I don't think any of us expected quite this level of…” he paused, gaze flicking unconsciously to Hiyori, who was glaring venomously at both of them. “Exuberance.”

“Lieutenant, Captain,” she finally nodded in acknowledgment, then paused, a twist to her mouth. “Why were you told to watch me?” She made a face. “I'm not some prodigy like Lieutenant Ichimaru, or even Lieutenant Shiba. I'm incredibly average. What would you be watching me for?”

“Raw talent?” Urahara posited mildly, a glint in his eye. “After all, you agreed to a duel with Lieutenant Sarugaki, here. If you were truly average, some would call that overconfidence.”

“Some would,” Natsumi agreed, matching his tone. There was a flicker of surprise in his face as he met her grave, even green gaze. His eyes narrowed, calculating and shrewd, then a pleasantly taken aback smile spread on his face. 

“Are you saying you think I'm less than average?” Hiyori hissed, suddenly standing. She flashed across the room with what might have been shunpo and what might have been a jump, reaching up a hand to fist in Natsumi’s robes and pull her down to eye level. “Because I'm not.”

“I'm not saying anything,” Natsumi shrugged, her only concession to Hiyori’s threat being the forward arch of her spine.  She was eerily calm, and the still-placid look in her eye was beginning to show that Hiyori’s superior position and willingness to do grievous harm to her was beginning to wear her respect thin. “I'm just acknowledging a viewpoint.”

“Hn,” Hiyori grunted, releasing her, a flicker of something like respect in her eyes, quickly hidden and half-denied. “You sound like  _ him _ .” She jerked a derogatory thumb at her Captain to drive the point home.

“Really?” Urahara raised a teasing eyebrow. “I think Miss Takanayo has a much nicer voice than myself.” The two girls both glared at him, and he raised thin hands in surrender. “But I… could be wrong.”

“You usually are,” Hiyori sniped, turning her ambient, undirected anger onto her captain. He seemed used to it, if weary. She felt sorry for him, just a little, as she watched them rehash what must have been a tried and true argument between them. It must have been difficult, to be made Captain out of next to nowhere and then to have a Lieutenant who so clearly wished not to be. After all, Captains and their Lieutenants were supposed to be working pairs, cemented by deep trust and affection. Natsumi sensed little trust and less affection from Hiyori, but perhaps she was reading too far into things. Or not far enough.

“I get the feeling you two don't get along,” Natsumi observed drily, and the other two turned their heads as if there'd forgotten she was there. Hell, maybe they had. Hiyori, at least, was looking off-guard. Urahara retained his perpetually ruffled look, the nervous tension in his shoulders unchanged from the moment he walked in. She didn't think he'd forgotten; she didn't know if he could, after so many years keeping criminals in line. She sighed. Forcefully. 

She was not old enough for this.

“Are we or are we not here to set terms?” She asked, and Hiyori grinned again.

“One round,” the blonde offered. Natsumi tilted her head. It would certainly be over faster. “First to be knocked out or otherwise incapacitated.”

“Okay.” She nodded to her sword. “I don't know if you have bankai, but I sure as hell don't, and I don't particularly feel like dying pointlessly.”

“No bankai,” Hiyori agreed. “You have a place in mind?” Natsumi but her lip, looking out the window and not really seeing it. 

“There's an empty field between the training grounds and the Academy itself,” she offered finally. “It's got a fence around it, so at least in the beginning we wouldn't have a crowd, and it's usually empty.”

“Sounds great. Can't wait to kick your ass in the sweet spring air,” the Lieutenant scoffed. “Probably why you don't want an audience, right?”

“I don't even care anymore,” Natsumi replied flatly. “One week? Afternoon?”

“I can clear it,” Urahara said suddenly, reminding both girls he was still there. Hiyori’s scowl deepened, and Natsumi nodded her thanks.

“So that's it,” Natsumi said, making a not-so-subtle gesture along the lines of  _ please leave my dorm before I claw my own eyes out _ . Urahara said a polite goodbye, and Natsumi had the feeling he should have a hat again. 

“Enjoy your last week alive!” Hiyori shouted back at her as she strolled out. Natsumi rolled her eyes. 

“I'm trying,” she muttered irritably.

~(@)~

Hiyori was close to ecstatic about the impending duel. She was becoming somewhat insufferable, according to Urahara, who had come complaining to Yoruichi seven times in the last two days alone

“It's like she wants to kill the poor recruit!” He said, incredulous. He paused. “Actually, she probably does, what am I saying.”

Yoruichi raised one perfect eyebrow. “And the girl is still willing to take her on? That's strange.” She took a sip of what might have been tea, but was likely something stronger. (The Shihouin Princess did not have any qualms about drinking during the work day. It was half the reason she and Kyouraku got along.) “Are we sure she isn't suicidal? Or homicidal, for that matter?” Kisuke considered this, running over the poor girl’s decidedly distant treatment of them the morning before, the sheer embarrassment in her face when she'd first bumped into Hiyori, and, most troublingly, the glint of frustration and trepidation and something else he'd caught when she'd met his eyes. Something about it had unnerved him.

“I'm almost certain she only said yes out of frustration,” he confided, taking a sip of tea, and shaking off the more troubling thoughts plaguing him. “She's rather well-ranked, apparently. Not the top of her class, but far from the bottom. She probably won't die, at the very least.”

“Which is to be commended, with Hiyori,” Yoruichi snickered. They clinked glasses.

“There's something off about her,” he said, after a silence of several moments. Yoruichi sent him a questioning look. “I can't explain it, but I just know…” he looked out the window, much the same way Natsumi had only a day and some hours ago. “There's something.”

“Want any help?” She asked, a serious tint coloring her still-affable face. She was, after all, the Empress of spies and killers. Her joy was dispensable at the merest hint of need. 

“No,” he hummed, sending her a grateful smile. “It might be nothing.”

“If it isn't,” she assured him, “I'll be there, and so will Tessai.”

_ I know you will _ , he didn't say. He didn't have to, after all this time. They were bound, the three of them, by time and choice and the unbreakable bond of true friendship. If any of them called, the other two would come. There was no question, no doubt, no choice.

Some things just were.

~(@)~

 

Across the complex of Seireitei, Natsumi was struggling. She had her sword laid out across her crossed legs, her eyes closed and her hands fisted on her knees. She breathed in, out. The awareness of her reiatsu swept out, sensing, feeling. She could feel the cranes leaving the river to fly across the sky, could feel the night flowers opening, the sun sweeping beneath the horizon. She could feel the thousands of reiatsu signatures of her classmates, her future comrades, even several darting out in the slums of the rukongai. She could feel the draw of the brightest, strongest of them- the Captains, she'd wager, and she forced herself away. She skipped and jumped around, testing her limits, her range. She danced across the whole of Soul Society, from that brilliant yellow-gold-black beacon in Zaraki to the repressed glittering flame-orange that was the Captain Commander. In between were the countless undeveloped primary-color flat blue sparks of those with untrained and untouched spiritual energy. She skipped through the barracks, looking for Captains and Lieutenants, testing her ability to recognize them. She smiled, feeling them rise up slightly at her touch. 

The mixed rose-pink and shadow-black of Kyouraku, the storm-grey and lightning flash of Ukitake, Ichimaru’s blinding silver and Unohana’s deceptively cool azure-black, Hiyori’s blazing tawny aura and Urahara’s gentle, fierce camellia-red. She touched lightly on Muguruma’s gunmetal grey and Kuna’s vibrant orange and lime, Yoruichi’s violent violet and Soi-Fon’s sharp yellow. She could feel Otoribashi’s mournful copper sheen, Aikawa’s mellow hunter green, and even further out Aizen’s soft brown, tinged with a strange white that felt familiar and cold. Not far ahead was Hirako’s warm gold, and at her lightest touch it rose up from where he had repressed it, bound it, contained it, ready and overwhelmingly bright. There was so much power there, held back so carefully, and she'd just wrecked his control for her own curiosity. She felt suddenly, intensely guilty and self-conscious enough at that to stop. She took another breath, coiling her reiatsu back into herself. She brought herself closer, skipping across the lake, grazing the night jasmine and tracing the walls of the room. She breathed, steady, feeling her body, the tensed muscles in her legs, her arms, her fingers, drawing her awareness inwards, reaching for the one thing she couldn't feel, could never feel. Her sword trembled from the force of her grip on it. There was no response.

“Why won't you say anything?” She hissed, face twisted with frustration. “Why won't you even try?” She was reaching out with everything she had, sending out threads to her sword’s spirit… and getting nothing. She didn't get a single syllable in return, not even a feeling like it was trying to reach her. “What did I do wrong?” She murmured, tears of desperation blooming in the corner of her eyes. She sighed, straightened her back, and tried again.

She sat, still, as the hours wore on, listening to the silence in her soul, descending deeper and deeper into the darkness of a soul untouched by its zanpakuto. She knew she had one. It had responded to her in the most shallow sense, had charged with her power and honed it to a sharper edge, but it did nothing more. It did not speak to her, did not touch her inner world, did not give her so much as a sign that it could hear her besides its very existence. She’d spent the last three years trying and failing to get her own soul to speak to her, and here she was, graduating and moving forward and she hadn't even achieved shikai. It was a sobering, painful thought, especially in light of the upcoming duel she was supposed to be taking part in.

She was going to die, she mused sadly, a faint touch of amusement entering her mind. She'd never even have a chance. And that was okay. 

She wouldn't have a chance against a hollow like this, anyway. Better to be killed in a wayward duel with the twelfth division’s Lieutenant than be eaten on her first trip out, right? 

She sighed, closing her eyes. She pushed away her impending murder, pushed away her still-awkward guilt at unraveling the Fifth Division’s Captain’s concentration, pushed away her wonder at what she had felt of Aizen’s reiatsu, the way it had almost hummed when she'd touched on it, pushed away everything….

And drowned.

That darkness surrounded her now. The sound of her own heartbeat swelled in her ears like a drumbeat, the pulse of blood like a steady, eternal tide, realer than life and godlike in its magnitude. She could smell rain and fruit, like afternoons after classes at the Academy, fond memories of people she had almost called friends and days she almost called good. She tasted blood and steel. She opened her eyes to her own soul, and found a vast black nothingness. Still nothing. The damn sword didn't even have the decency to give her a look at her inner world. “Where are you?” She whispered, voice echoing off the ragged places in her soul. “Where can I find you?”

There was no answer. She snorted. Figures. The personification of her soul  _ would _ be a stubborn, temperamental bitch.

When she woke the next morning, legs still twisted and sword clutched tightly in sore hands, she sighed. One week. She could do that. 

~(@)~

She could not do that. The more her sword refused to answer her and the closer it got to the day of the duel, the more nervous she got. She nearly blew her hand off in Kidou class on Thursday, and the teacher had to tell her she was still on fire when she hadn't moved for a good minute or three.

She was going to  _ die _ . Why the hell had she thought this was an idea worth considering? Why had she gotten herself into this mess? And, perhaps more importantly, why didn't she try to get herself out?

And yet, some part of her, muted and small as it was, insisted that she could do this. That silent sword or no, she was a deft hand at kidou, that she was fast, that she could use a sword sealed better than half of them could unsealed. She wasn't lacking skill. She was, apparently, simply lacking sense.

Because her opponent wasn't some schoolyard bully trussed up in the Academy uniform, deflated easily with a solid kick to the head. Her opponent was a skilled, experienced, brutal fighter with at least a century of experience and killing on her. And she had  _ agreed _ to this.   _ Willingly _ . She was considering simply capitulating to what she was beginning to suspect were Hiyori’s actual wishes: just going in and telling her that yes, she was a coward. Yes, she was a self-preserving idiot who’d rather suffer endless humiliation and schoolyard jeers rather than get the crap kicked out of her by a Lieutenant for what was, essentially, no good reason, and potentially die in the process. Yes, Hiyori had won by default and she could hold that over her for the rest of time if she wanted. 

But that voice… that achingly persistent part of her reminded her that she wasn't helpless. She didn't need anyone's help or mercy to win a fight. She'd done it before and chances were good she'd do it again. Whether or not she'd win this fight wasn't based on experience or fate. The wind could blow a piece of Hiyori’s hair in her eyes and give her an opening. It was all chance in the end, and she had as good a chance as anyone else to win any given fight on any given day. Why should this one be different?

That was what she told herself every time she woke in the middle of the night, the sight of Hiyori’s blade coming closer and closer to her eyes fading too slowly from her memory. That's what she told herself walking between classes, while she was eating, when she would look up in class and see any mention of fighting and promptly lose half her brain cells. 

She could not do this.

But she was damn well going to try.

So when dawn burned the sky to clear blue on Saturday, Natsumi took one look at herself in the mirror and sighed. She looked like hell. She bent over the sink, pressing her face to the cold glass. Then she stood up, ran the faucet, and began to get ready for the day.

An hour before the duel, she gathered her sword, silent as it was, and picked up a short note. She had left two similar ones on her desk, one for each roommate, and a third was currently circulating the Division mail system, making its steady way toward Captain Urahara. A small apology, should she die and cause trouble, and another in case she should do something even stupider, like  _ win _ , and cause trouble. The fourth, clutched in her trembling hand, was the only one she felt she should deliver in person. 

She owed him an explanation. 

The Fifth Division barracks were, charitably, a mess. Whether that was because they were naturally so or because some crisis had occurred, she couldn't say for certain, but the fact that the Lieutenant and Captain were each calmly in their offices spoke to the former. She took a deep breath. And another. And ano-

“Miss Takanayo?” Aizen’s voice was concerned, calming. Almost unnaturally so. She realized, looking up with wide,  _ shit you caught me _ eyes, that he probably felt her last week, too. She had spent a tad longer with him than the others, mesmerized by that glimmering pearly white mixed in with his own soothing brown. 

“Lieutenant,” she said, finally, inordinately grateful that her voice neither wavered nor cracked. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, concern twisting over his kind face. 

“Just have something to tell the Captain,” she offered, waving the folded note like a flag of surrender. “Before, you know, I meet an untimely end.” She tried to smile, and felt it come out halfway between a grimace and a wince.

“I don't believe you will meet an untimely end,” Aizen said simply, before going back to his desk and his work. “In any case,” he said, sitting and looking up at her with keen brown eyes, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, her own eyes narrowing at that sudden sharpness in his face. 

“You!” Hirako exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Last week! You!”

“Yeah,” Natsumi winced, holding up her hands defensively. “That was an accident.” 

“An accident,” he scoffed, spreading a hand on his desk. “I never met anybody who could project their reiatsu halfway across town and then unravel a guy’s wards like that by  _ accident _ .” Natsumi shrugged sheepishly. 

“Nobody’s ever noticed me doing it before,” she explained, still feeling deeply guilty and vaguely sick. “I just like to see how far I can go, and sometimes I can track people down, so I was looking for all the Captains, and then your reiatsu did that thing and I freaked out, so I came back and I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I just-” Hirako put up a hand, trying desperately to just stop the flow of words. He gestured to the chair across the desk from him and she sat, somewhat chastened and somewhat put out.

“Kid,” he began, rubbing his other hand over his forehead. “What do you mean, you like to see how far you can go?”

“I can project my reiatsu,” she said, confused. “Can't you? Can't everyone? In Kidou class, Goyonagi was talking about how it's possible to control reiatsu that's outside your body, so I tried it and I've been doing it ever since.” 

“Yeah, some _reiatsu_ ,” he stressed, gesturing at her. “Not your whole…” He waved his hand. “Consciousness.”

“Oh,” she said, struck dumb. 

“I thought everyone was talking about how average you were,” he grumbled, still not quite ready to let go of how she’d broken his wards. “You must have a hell of a lot of reiatsu stuffed in there.”

“I mean, I guess,” she shrugged again. “I can project out to the eightieth district now.” A strange, proud smile crossed her face, then. “I guess that's far, huh?”

“Kid,” Hirako groaned, leaning over his desk. “You’ve got no idea.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You really don't.” He looked up, then, a suddenly crafty look on his face. “You ever thought about which Division you want into once you've graduated?”

Natsumi raised one eyebrow. “Why Captain Hirako,” she said primly. “Are you trying to seduce me into your division?” He smirked.

“Do I have to try?” He asked, something like satisfaction in his eyes. She tilted her head at him, just looking. Her cool green eyes passed over his face, tracing the curve of his grin, the set of his eyes, the way his hair fell over his shoulders. His grin faded as she examined him, something more earnest taking its place. 

“We’ll see,” she said finally. He smirked again. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” His grin grew. She shook her head. 

“I came here to apologize, you know.” She looked up at him sheepishly. “Before Lieutenant Sarugaki murders me and all.” Something flickered in his eyes, but she didn't see. “I try not to touch too hard on any one person’s reiatsu. But you just…” she waved a hand, looking for a word that didn't exist. “You  _ shine _ , you know?” She met his gaze, earnest and sad. “I hope I didn't do any real damage. I've never done that before, so I didn't know what it meant. I still don't, really.” He scratched the side of his head. 

“Well nobody got hurt, if that's what you mean,” he said thoughtfully. “You just scared the hell out of me. It ain't often someone has enough power, let alone an actual method, to break through my wards.”

“Why do you ward yourself?” She asked, half-certain of the answer. 

“Same reason you broke through them,” he said, not looking away from her face. The look in his eye sent a cold snap down her spine. “Cause there are things I can do not everyone can, and if I do ‘em, even by accident, I could hurt people.”

She nodded, then.

“You should go,” he said, nodding at the clock. “It's about time, if I heard right.” She stood, handing him the note as an afterthought more than anything else. He took it gingerly, reading it as she began to walk away.

“You still haven't said it,” he called, just before she reached the door. “That you're sorry.” She turned, a flash of a rueful smile in the corner of her mouth. 

“I am sorry,” she said, hand gripping tightly around her sword’s handle. “I’m sorry for hurting you.” He opened his mouth to deny it, but there was an understanding in her face, sad and tired and at home there. 

“Don't forget to consider the Fifth,” he calls after her as she leaves, and the quiet laugh that echoes back into his office is more of a reward than it properly should be. He stands behind his desk a moment more, feeling the unnerving hum of Aizen’s aura at his own desk and the echo of an apology ringing in his ears.

_ If I do ‘em, even by accident, I could hurt people,  _ he mouths the words again and wonders when he started giving himself away so easily.

He finds no answer.

Natsumi was a mess of emotion and chilling nerves by the time she got to the assigned field. Her conversation with Captain Hirako was meant to be closure, meant to be a simple apology and nothing more. Instead, it was like a hole had been opened in her heart. There were a thousand things running through her mind. Hiyori was older than her. Stronger, too. Captain Hirako didn't blame her. Hiyori was going to tear her apart and then probably laugh at her. He understood. She didn't even know her sword’s name. He thought she was strong. She wasn't strong enough for this. He wanted her in his division. Oh crap, she hadn't even considered which division she might join after graduation. If she made it to graduation. He liked her enough to try and persuade her. 

She was going to  _ die _ .

Hiyori met her on the field, usual scowl in place and Urahara trailing like his usual hesitant self. There was a new addition, though, a sleek woman with black hair shining purple in the sun. She was dressed in casual clothes, so Natsumi didn't recognize her at first, but that was  _ Captain Shihoin _ . She trembled. Just a little. If being killed by Hiyori alone on a training field was murder, then being killed like this was a high-stakes gladiator fight, watched and cheered by the elite. She had read books about gladiators, growing up. How they'd starve lions for days before letting them into the ring to tear apart the poor man inside of it.

Hiyori was the lion.

Natsumi felt rather like running and hiding, but that was no longer an option. She reached out a hand instead, tightening her grip to match Hiyori’s and feeling a minute rush of smugness when she heard bone crack and didn't feel it. She could be fierce, too.

They walked the requisite ten paces, turned, and bowed. Hiyori raised her sword, and growled. 

“Kubikiri Orochi!” There was a hissing noise, and her sword lengthened, widened, and Natsumi pushed off the ground furiously to avoid the first strike of the cleaver. She flipped herself back, landing behind Hiyori and managing to swing one foot into her right side. Following through with her momentum, she rolled into a crouch, sword still sheathed. Hiyori rolled, too, her sword making a handhold as she stood, wrenching it out of the ground swinging it back in preparation. “Come on!” She shouted. “Aren't you going to even try to fight me?”

“I don't know,” Natsumi smiled, something harsh in the curve of it. She flickered out of existence, touching down behind her opponent with the sound of a single footstep. Hiyori turned at the sound, only for Natsumi to deliver another kick to the stomach, sending her flying backwards. “Are you going to try?” Hiyori made a noise something like a snarl, but this time didn't move at all, only tightening her grip on her sword. “Is it strong?” Natsumi asked, nodding at her sword.

“Stronger than that,” Hiyori huffed, gesturing to the sleek katana the other girl was drawing from its sheath at her hip. 

“Maybe,” she shrugged, bending her legs as if it to prepare for another burst of shunpo. “Maybe not.” She disappeared. Hiyori grinned, turning already to face her back, where the girl did indeed come swinging, bringing her sword down on Hiyori’s with a sound like a bell. 

“You think I’d fall for that?” Hiyori laughed. “I'm learning your pattern.”

“Pattern?” Natsumi snorted, mentally measuring the distance between Hiyori and the fence. “I'm just playing games.”  She stepped away, flashing to the center of the field, absently noting the reach of her opponent as the other girl’s strike pushed forward and out with the loss of opposition. Hiyori smirked at her.

“I can do that, too, remember?” She called, appearing behind Natsumi, who turned on her heel to block the shorter girl’s downward stroke, catching it before it could hit her face. They struggled for a moment, the tension between their swords too great to break off alone. 

“Can you do this?” Natsumi smirked, raising the hand not holding her sword to press against Kubikiri. “Hado #4,” Hiyori’s eyes widened, and she pushed back just as Natsumi finished. “Byakurai.” The blast of energy was diluted by distance, and no longer being focused on Hiyori’s zanpakuto deprived it of any real target, but it still made an effective distraction as she darted across the field to come up once more behind her opponent. Kidou class homework, she swore in her mind, was something she’d never disparage again. She could only thank whatever god was listening that Hiyori seemed to be the kind of person who didn't strategize so much as react. The whole situation, she felt, could have been much worse had she been up against someone like Aizen, for example.

“That was a dirty trick,” Hiyori called, coughing on the dust still rising through the air. “Completely underhanded.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Natsumi called back, back pressed to a tree, trying to catach her breath after darting in figures around the field to avoid being hit in the dust. “Were you expecting me to play fair?” Hiyori made a disgruntled sound and she couldn't help but laugh. “Should’ve specifies that in the rules!” Seeing the dust being to clear, she picked out Hiyori’s figure and broke away from her hiding place and into the branches of the tree itself, using her momentum to land a light stroke against Hiyori’s arm, taking first blood in the game. 

“I thought you said you were average!” Hiyori yelled, searching for her opponent in the trees, now. 

“Average doesn't mean weak,” the graduate called, voice traveling in waves across the field. “Just means I'm not fantastic at anything.”

“Like hiding?” Hiyori asked, slamming her sword into the side of the tree and catching the side of Natsumi’s thigh in the process. 

“Like hiding!” The now-also-bleeding girl laughed, twisting around to Hiyori’s other side to jab her uninjured arm with a quick move and then proceed to flash across to the other side of the clearing.

“Why won't you just fight?” The blonde snarled, appearing right in front of the other girl. Their blades locked again, tension trembling in both of their arms.

“I don't want to die,” Natsumi told her conversationally, once more lifting a hand off of her hilt… only to slam it back down, forcing her sword to move down the flat, open length of the cleaver and scrape harshly across Hiyori’s hand. As her opponent shouted and switched hands, stabbing her in the leg, she twisted under her opponent’s arm, around her back, and swiped her sword down the length of the other girl’s back, forcing her reiatsu into the blade to drive it further. 

Hiyori fell onto her knees, blood slowly seeping through the black robes. Natsumi brought the hilt of her sword down on the back of the other girl’s neck. Hiyori fell forward, hearing her opponent's final words as she drifted away.

“I'm strange like that,” she finished, other hand clasped over the wound on her arm. She stumbled back, the blood dripping down her leg reminding her of her other wounds. She fell to her knees, too, wavering with blood loss and emotional exhaustion. There was a roaring noise, harsh and strange. For a moment she thought it was a hollow. Then she looked up. 

Somehow, neither she nor Hiyori had noticed the crowd gathering around their fight, nor the jeers and cheers aimed at them throughout. Nevertheless, there was a veritable mob of students and teachers alike gathered, all cheering, some for her and some for Hiyori, but all cheering.

She smiled wryly. A draw wasn't half bad. 

Then, she passed out, too. She wasn't awake to see Urahara and Yoruichi exchanging glances, to see Aizen watching her with a strange and distant gaze, Hirako with open admiration and worry for both of them. She wasn't awake to know who carried them to the Fourth division, or what happened there. 

She didn't wake up for three days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things:  
> 1) Hiyori only loses bc Natsumi fights dirty and smart. That's it. In a Kenpachi-type battle, she's the kind of person who'd win, but when it comes to people like Natsumi, who will literally stab you in the back to end the fight, direct and confrontational isn't your best bet.
> 
> 2) I am firmly of the opinion that Shinji, like Hitsugaya, is one of those people whose powers kind of overflow. Sakanade is not a kind or easy thing to live with. This will likely be elaborated on in the future.
> 
> 3) Natsumi is a lot like Ichigo in that she has a ton of reiatsu and a lot of dedication, but not always the control she needs. She can funnel it into things like her sword, and she can reach out and feel through it because there's just so much of it it's like having an extra limb, but without a functioning zanpakuto, she's basically left with, well, an extra limb. Great and terrible at the same time. 
> 
> 4) Shinji is my fave. I don't know if I've ever said that. But like. He is. I have no shame. He's my fave.
> 
> 5) the next chapter should be much shorter and up tomorrow. It's going to be a bit more of a quiet thing, probably set during those three days she's out of it.


	5. belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shinji was not a trusting man." 
> 
> Everyone has trust issues. (Even me. Even you.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer and longer

Shinji was not a trusting man. He trusted certain people, true enough, but not quickly and not easily. It had taken most of the other Captains a decent fifty years each to earn his working trust, and a few of them a hundred more to earn his personal trust. He was not the type to simply hand over his secrets and fears to an unknown variable to do with as they would.

But there was something unassuming about Takanayo, a quiet uncertainty and earnestness that made her seem entirely honest. If he were anyone else, he was sure he'd trust her wholeheartedly on sight. As it was, this only made him more suspicious. In a way, it reminded him of Aizen. He looked down at the unconscious girl, sighing heavily. With her light hair spread over the pillow and her peaked, nervous face relaxed, she looked almost calm. Almost harmless.

But he'd seen her fight now. He'd watched with unblinking eyes as she systematically pushed Hiyori further and further into her rage and recklessness until she could strike without worry. She wasn't as soft or innocent as she came off, and he was uncertain whether or not she meant for it to be that way. He passed a glance over her sword, the grey-wrapped hilt and requisite rectangular guard the same as those handed to every new recruit. Unchanged, powerless, and dormant still. 

She hadn't even achieved shikai yet, and she'd come away from a straight duel with a Lieutenant in a draw. She'd had only her wits, a blade and some improvisational Kidou, and she'd left with little more than a few scars and a few days of rest. She had nerve and adaptability, and from what he'd seen, a strong survival instinct. That wasn't something the Academy taught. He wanted to look into it, to check her background and her records and her statements in triplicate, to fully indulge the paranoid bastard part of him that was screaming that she wasn't what she seemed.

But another part of him, soft and foolish, he cursed it, spoke calmly and fondly that the kid probably wasn't intentionally deceitful. She had walked into that arena ready for death. Hell, she'd as much as told him so. She hadn't had much of a plan beyond (hopefully) “live”. And the way she'd looked at him when he asked her to join his division, as motivated by suspicion and curiosity as he had been, had made something in him sing with feeling. It was the same resonant sensation, warming and bright, as he'd felt when she had unraveled his wards that night. 

He'd been doing paperwork, listening to Aizen breathe and radiating discontent. The man hadn't given him anything to be outright suspicious of, so far, but that only made him more suspicious. He even breathed weirdly, with an unnaturally steady rhythm, like he'd never been out of breath in his life. And then there was a presence, a soft touch at his back, and he could feel his wards- he'd maintained them so carefully, built them up so strong, so long since he'd last lost control and God what had it been this time- unravel. Not break, like they normally would if Sakanade got truly angry, not shatter like someone had forced their way in,  _ unravel _ . It was light, and he wanted to arch into it like a cat, an almost unbearably gentle brush like a hand down his spine and a soft press to his heart. It felt like the touch of a lover, a warmth he hadn't felt in years. Centuries, maybe.

But that touch didn't just unsettle his heart, it undid his soul. His wards falling like broken rope around him, he had a flash of panic as he felt his reiatsu rise up, Sakanade unfurling and stretching like a cat, reaching out to touch. For a half second he could feel Aizen’s sudden nausea, the poor girl walking down the hall’s stumble as directions reversed. Something in him screamed. He clamped down, forcing it all back into him, murmuring Kidou until the layers and barriers of meticulously maintained wards, boundaries and shackles he'd placed on himself, rose back into place, weakened, a little shaky, a little rushed, but strong enough to hold. He was checking them over, still shaken and uncertain, when he found it. There was something else there, now, a touch of someone else’s power, benignly twisted into one of his wards where he’d pulled it up from the ground. It was a scrap of strange blue, reiatsu so pale as to be almost white, with flickers of pink and gold and green, violet and darker blue and silver dancing through it like currents in a stream. Opalescent, he thought was the word. Flickering and soft and strange, and oddly familiar. 

He unwound it from his wards, and it clung to him. Soft, and undeniably of the thing that had touched him, he could feel Sakanade reaching out for it. He released it, let it flutter into the wind, pressing his own reiatsu to his ribs, pushing it as closely to himself as he dared to keep it. Who the hell had done this? Who the hell had the  _ power _ to do this?

Looking down at her now, Shinji had to wonder. Who indeed? If she really had no idea what she could do, then she had to be trained. If she knew and didn't care, she'd have to be stopped. Either way, he mused, running a fine lock of brown hair through his fingers, he'd be there to make sure.

The most unsettling thing, perhaps, was that he had wanted to give in. He had wanted to relax into that touch, to bask in the warmth of her soul, and to hell with his barriers. Two hundred years and more of being a closed off, paranoid, manipulative bastard didn't do a whole lot of good when it came to feeling safe, and that split second had been enough to remind him of it. He had wanted to let go, to stop holding himself so tightly together, so completely apart and just trust the feeling that swept over him. But he couldn't, because he had power and responsibilities and Aizen in the next room. But she had done that with a brush of her soul against his, without meaning to or wanting to, she had him completely undone. And when she'd come to him and watched him with distant green eyes and apologized in a voice that was a thousand years older than it should have been, he had wanted to  _ believe _ her.

And that terrified him.

~(@)~

Natsumi woke up three days later to the entertaining sound of Hirako, Urahara and Kyouraku all arguing good-naturedly with Hiyori, who appeared to be resisting her stay in the Fourth. 

“Fuck you!” There was the distinct sound of something smashing against a wall. “I don't need to stay here!” Natsumi made a face in the direction of the other girl’s voice. Looking around, she found Akio and Gisane slumped in chairs by her bed. When she turned to the doorway, she started. 

“Lieutenant Aizen,” she said, some surprise coloring her voice. “What have I done to deserve a visit?”  _ Aside from the whole duel business _ , she didn't say.

“Actually, I'm just stopping in while they try to calm Lieutenant Sarugaki down,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as the sound of something shattering on a wall echoed past them. 

“A task for heroes, I'm guessing,” she said, a wry smile making its way onto her face. “Well, in any case, thank you.” He tilted his head at her, that ever-present solemn smile gone. 

“You shouldn't thank me,” he replied eventually, still watching her with a  searching gaze. “It's pure selfishness on my part.” She cocked an eyebrow as Hiyori quite loudly lambasted Hirako and began smacking him with something. 

“Because you don't want to be in there?” She asked, nodding to the commotion. An empty smile cracked his face, and she could tell there was something behind it.

“Exactly,” he said, and there was so much of a lie there that she was immediately off-put. He wore his kindness and his manners like a cloak of shadow, and she felt comforted by it, but she had a sudden stab of familiarity, as if she had long practice at reading him. 

“Wise choice,” she replied, the smile tilting at her mouth half-fake, too. She didn't know what he was doing, but she knew she wanted to trust him. She also knew that she shouldn't. “I’d choose even me over that lot any day.”

“Even you?” He chuckled. “You're not so bad as all that.”

“How would you know?” She teased him. “We've only just met.” There was a more real smile on his face, and for the life of her she couldn't understand how she knew that. It was pinched at the edges, as if it had been cut short by some long-held pain and anguish. Brittle on his face, unsettled where his politer, falser smile used to sit. It was a pleasant smile, for all that.

“I have a feeling we'll be good friends,” he offered, reaching out a hand. His hands were cool, toughened by long years of fighting and ink-stained from longer hours writing reports. She smiled.

She wanted to believe him.

~(@)~

There was something about waking up in the Fourth Division that's always made Hiyori nervous. It doesn't make sense; by all reasoning, she should feel safe knowing she's in the healers’ hands, away from harm. But still. After the last time she'd woken, (apparently just before the recruit did), they'd sedated her, trying to keep her calm. It didn't make her feel any more safe, strangely enough. 

She had been lying in the dark for hours, just thinking. Most people assume she doesn't, assume she's all bluster and anger and for the most part she is, she's okay with that. But it still hurt to be so thoroughly beaten by some unskilled recruit, some girl with frightened eyes and a still-sealed sword.

It made her wonder what she’d done wrong. She was sure there had to be something- there usually was. She tried to find it, laying in silence and darkness and just thinking. The only other person in the same hall was the recruit, and she couldn't get her mind off of it. So hours later, as the moon crested at the peak of the midnight sky, she wasn't expecting anyone to come into her room, let alone the girl who had put her there in the first place. 

“Lieutenant Sarugaki?” The whisper came from where the door was sliding open. She turned her head and grunted at the other girl.

“What?” The girl seemed to take that as an invitation, which only ticked her off more.

“I wanted to apologize.” She came right up to the bed, green doe eyes dark in the moonlight, face solemn and drawn in the shadow. 

“What is there to apologize for?” There was so much bitterness in her voice even Hiyori was surprised. “You won. Fair and square.” 

“Well,” she said, slowly. “Kind of. It still wasn't fair to you.” Hiyori sat up, annoyed. 

“I'm a Lieutenant,” she said flatly. “You've barely even graduated.” And there was the crux of it. She could've stood the blow to her pride if only the one who had dealt it hadn't been so much younger, so much less experienced. So much  _ weaker _ . After all, what did it say about her, if she was so easily beaten by some kid?

“You should’ve won,” the girl agreed, and Hiyori looked up, startled. She shrugged, turning to sit on the bed, back to Hiyori as she played with one long, ragged sleeve. “I don't fight fair,” she said quietly. “When I'm afraid, I don't fight fair. If I had, you would’ve won.”

“Fair?” Hiyori barked out a laugh, incredulous at the girl’s clearly enormous guilt complex. “We didn't set any rules about Kidou or Hoho. If I'd been smarter I would've used ‘em.” 

“Why didn't you?” She asked, something clever and accusatory in her eyes. “You wanted to win so badly, why didn't you?”

“Because I don't think clearly when I'm mad,” Hiyori shrugged. “It's fine when I'm happy or sad or whatever, but when I get mad, I just lose it.” She sniffed, shrugging again. “Shinji still thinks it has something to do with my zanpakuto, but I'm pretty sure he's just projecting.” The girl cracked a smile at that, something secret and sad hidden in the corner of it. 

“I could teach you some things,” she offered, and Hiyori got the feeling this was an olive branch of some sort. The girl had that smile still on her face, cracked like a sad, broken thing.

“Yeah, alright.” Hiyori nodded. “Maybe you can teach me something to shut Shinji up.” The smile grew a little, less cracked and more knowing. 

“You're old friends, then?” She asked, and Hiyori found herself wanting to tell the girl about herself, wanting to confide in her. It was weird. She shook it off and nodded.

“Known each other forever. For-e-ver,” she emphasized. She eyed the other girl speculatively. “I got some good stories.” 

“I'd love to hear them,” she said warmly. 

“I, uh,” Hiyori scratched the side of her head. “I… don't remember your name.” The girl laughed, as if she had expected that. 

“Natsumi Takanayo,” she said, even and play-businesslike. “A pleasure.”

Hiyori shook her hand and half-smiled.

  
She wanted to believe her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, have I mentioned lately that I love parallels and triptychs? bc that's my shit. I love echoes and repetition. I think they're amazing literary devices.
> 
> Next chapter is some Kuchiki family drama because who doesn't love Kuchiki family drama?


	6. Graduation, Recruitment and Nineteen Unnecessary Duels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shinji worries about being a cradle robber while Natsumi worries about dying. Gisane makes everyone else worry. Aizen faces an unexpected challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been a whole-ass month, so whoops. To be fair, I've written the bulk of three later chapters and this one, but nobody but me has seen the pay-off for that, so anyway I'm sorry.
> 
> This one is literally so long I'm so sorry. I thought maybe ~4K but NO ITS OVER 11K. I blame all my Shinji feels. Literally, this whole academy-era was meant to be like, a two-chapter part of the story, but there's just so much I want to do with the Academy and the TBTP era in general.

The Academy year ended in March. This wouldn’t be an outstanding fact had it been in the Human World, but being in Seireitei, it was a matter of some speculation why this structure was chosen. Many students had (and would gladly and loudly share) their own theories, ranging from the probable (to give the instructors and students the loveliest month of the year off) to the ridiculous (Yamamoto and Central 46 were deeply entrenched in the commercialization of Hanami festivities and hoped to make profit off of students). Every spring, the younger ranks of students were on edge, waiting for a taste of freedom and a chance to improve their skills away from their fellows. For the sixth years, it was graduation time. The recruits, having shown off their skills, passed their tests and chosen (or having been chosen by, in some cases) their divisions, were finally graduating. The Graduation itself was a staid, uncompromising affair, consisting of a good deal of name-reading, walking and waiting, and an endless array of formal dinners following. The night before was to be spent in meditation and contemplation of one’s future and purpose. So naturally, the night before the night before was a tumultuous array of parties, games, and last-chance-for-stupid-mistakes decision-making. 

Gisane in particular had been looking forward to it. Natsumi was certain that whatever her roommate was doing would be obvious the next morning, if not before. Harsh, uncompromising and combative, she would have been a shoo-in for the Eleventh division if she wasn't such an underhanded trickster. She was, instead, headed straight for the Eighth. Whether this was down to Captain Kyouraku’s fondness for pretty girls or Lieutenant Yadomaru’s immediate recognition of a kindred spirit was down to your own personal opinion. 

Natsumi was still in the Fourth division’s barracks, waiting for Akio to return with a nurse so she could be cleared to leave. Gisane was badgering her about Hiyori, who had checked out quite loudly that morning. Hirako and Aizen had come in her Captain’s stead, because apparently she despised him. Hirako had been wrestling with her when Aizen had stopped in to say hello, a quick smile and half-wave enough to convey both nervousness and cheer before he came to his own Captain’s aid. Natsumi had been curiously off-put by the humility in his expression. It didn’t belong there. She didn’t mention any of this to Gisane, instead informing her of the agreement between herself and Hiyori.

“So what, you just beat her up and then made friends with her?” Gisane had flopped over Natsumi’s bed, staring at the ceiling and popping grapes into her mouth at periodic intervals.

“Sort of?” Natsumi sighed, falling back next to her, stealing a grape. “And if I did, how could you judge me? Isn’t that how you and Seichi became friends?”

“You knocked him out in a bar and then he asked me out the next morning,” Gisane corrected her. “We only became friends after he proved he wasn’t a total ass.”

“He proved that?” Natsumi joked. Gisane smacked her arm.

“You were there,” she protested. “You should know.” She sounded a little bit hurt, and Natsumi kicked her leg fondly.

“Oh yeah,” she teased. “The night we became friends, too.”

“I thought you told me were already friends,” Gisane asked, still hurt but less so, and Natsumi smiled.

“I was your friend from the start,” she reassured her. “That was the night you started to be mine.” Akio came into the room, looking more than a little perturbed. She snuck a glance over her shoulder as the door closed.

“Whatever,” Gisane muttered, snuggling further into the blankets and sighing. “Way to rub it in that I was a frigid bitch.”

“You are a frigid bitch,” Akio corrected her with little emotion or sympathy, sitting primly on the end of the bed, cross legged. “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

“Rude,” Natsumi muttered, sitting up with a sad noise. The muscles in her thigh and arm ached where Hiyori had cut them, pulled strangely tight even though they’d been healed for hours. She huffed a single breath, looking mournfully at Akio’s empty hands and then her very bare feet. Apparently after one too many runaway patients, the Fourth had begun taking shoes and socks hostage until their charges actually checked out instead of making a run for it. Natsumi couldn’t leave if she wanted to.

And she wanted to.

“They still have my things?” She asked Akio, who shrugged apologetically.

“They said someone’ll bring them when they’re ready.”

“I’m ready  _ now _ ,” Natsumi sighed, flopping back again in defeat, sounding very much like a petulant child.

“Okay,” Gisane snorted, yawning. “I’ll be sure to tell them that.”

“You don’t have to,” Natsumi pointed out, as one of the Fourth’s corps came in to check her over. It took a few minutes, easily passed, and then she got her shoes and socks back. She immediately began to pull her socks on. “I missed socks,” she confessed airily.

“Okay,” Gisane snorted.

“What time are you abandoning us today?” Akio asked, and Gisane turned over to grumble.

“I need to leave at sunset,” she sighed, rolling gracefully off of Natsumi’s bed. She landed in a crouch, somehow still perfectly in control despite the fact that she was still half-asleep. 

“It’s sunset now,” Akio said sadly. It would have been worrying, except Akio always seemed a little sad.

“Alright, then, it's time for me to go.” She said, looking quickly out the window before heading for the door.

“What? Why?” Akio asked, small frown on her face. Gisane waved at her, practically skipping out.

“You'll see!” She called behind her.

“Don't die!” Natsumi called back, pulling on a pair of socks.

“She's going to die.” Akio slumped on the bed morosely.

“Probably,” she agreed, hopping on one foot as she tugged her other sandal on.

“Wanna go to a party?” Akio asked, still mumbling and sad. 

“Probably,” she grinned at the face her roommate made. “Come on, we've only got two more nights of freedom. Make the most of it.”

Akio moaned all the way to the Academy gate, where they met a group of other students. There was an even mix of boys and girls in the group, laughing and chatting in small clusters. One girl with copper hair and a quick smile caught sight of them and waved them over.

“Want to come with us, Akio?” Natsumi wasn't familiar with the girl, but apparently Akio was, because she nodded fervently and took Natsumi’s sleeve in order to pull her over to where the other student was leading them. “Akio! I've never seen your hair up! It looks great!” The redhead cooed appreciatively over Akio for another minute before she even turned to Natsumi. “Who's this?”

“Roommate,” Natsumi said in explanation, reaching out a hand. “Natsumi Takanayo.” The redhead smiled even more and shook her hand firmly.

“Aoimi Wakara.” Aoimi’s companions likewise introduced themselves, but there were so many of them that Natsumi promptly forgot half their names and then forgot who the other half belonged to. As it turned out, the group was waiting on a particularly tall man by the name of Kenichi, who jogged into the square a few minutes later. Having acquired him, they set off for a local bar. As they walked, a great many drunken students and passer-by shouted various things at the group. It would've been upsetting, maybe, if those things hadn't mostly consisted of “Oh my god, Reimu-Senpai, please teach me Houhou,” with much demurring and humble let-downs from Akio. Apparently, Natsumi observed with glee, her roommate was rather popular with the boys. 

By the time they made it to the bar, Akio was grimacing and looking sadder than usual. She swept into the establishment with a startling speed, setting up at the counter, where she promptly ordered and downed a good three bowls of sake in as much time as it took for Natsumi to reach the counter herself. 

“You okay?” She asked, stifling a smile. “Seems like a lot of people require your expertise.”

“Ugh, I'm not even that fast!” Akio finally burst out, her straight black hair falling into her face. She swept out of her eyes and made a face. “Just because I'm top of the class they think I'm special.”

“Being top of the  _ advanced _ class kind of means you are,” Aoimi pointed out, gesturing to the bartender that she wanted a drink too. “I've never seen your shunpō,” she remarked, sounding a little peeved at the thought. “Are you really that fast?”

“Yes,” Natsumi answered for her. She shook her head. “You should see her panic and run when she's forgotten an umbrella on a rainy day. That's speed.” Aoimi held back a laugh as Akio gaped at her roommate, looking more upset and betrayed than proud at the compliment.

“I do not  _ panic _ ,” she said scathingly. Natsumi nodded obligingly, a wry smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. 

“Of course not,” she agreed. Aoimi began handing out bowls to those without, and she accepted hers with a nod and change of subject. “I never did ask, where did you two meet?” She squinted at the redhead for a moment. “We’re not in any of the same classes, are we?” Akio blushed bright pink.

“We met at the sento,” Aoimi said with a large grin. “Akio has a rather… unorthodox tattoo. She almost got kicked out.”

“Until you rescued me,” Akio muttered, still looking more flushed than was usual. Natsumi thought for a moment, trying to fathom what ‘unorthodox’ might mean.

“How'd you manage that?” She asked instead, swallowing her question with a mouthful of sake. 

“Copious begging,” Aoimi shrugged, apparently shameless.

“Oh, is that all?” Natsumi laughed. “I'll remember that next time I want to go somewhere public with Akio. ‘Copious begging may be required.’” Akio scowled and had another drink. 

“You're terrible friends,” she muttered, but there was a half-smile peeking out from under her frown. Aoimi, who was herself on her third, pressed a smacking kiss to Akio’s hair. 

“Friends,” Natsumi snorted under her breath, taking another sip. She turned, looking for Gisane, and instead found Captain Hirako of the Fifth Division clinking cups ominously with Captain Kyouraku. It was a slightly terrifying sight, especially given that Captain Ukitake was nowhere in sight for once. They seemed to be having a good time, though she knew all too well that that could be a bad thing in its own way. Natsumi stared at the two men, biting her lip and wishing she could read lips. Turning a little, Hirako caught her eye and she raised her cup in salute, a wry half-smile breaking through her nervousness. He grinned and did the same, calm brown eyes steady where they met hers. She turned back at Akio’s question, not noticing that he didn't turn away at all. She was having too much fun discussing the unfair Academy policies with Aoimi, who seemed to be something of a crusader.

It was rare that Natsumi actually had fun when socializing. She enjoyed the closeness, the feeling of camaraderie, and meeting new people she liked, but she despised overcrowding, loud noise and pretending to like people- which was what about eighty percent of all Academy student socializing consisted of. At every party there was always at least one person who threw up on a bed or a depressed, recently dumped ex who made everyone else suffer. It was nice to be at a party where everyone was happy, she thought, gazing at the soon-to-be-recruits, dancing and drinking and throwing food into each others’ mouths. No wallflowers or stringent supervisors here. She sighed, looking at Akio and Aoimi making out under the bar. The kissing had begun an hour ago, and only progressing. They were near-horizontal now, and heading further down. She then looked at her drink, the clock, and the rampant mess.

“I'm going to go find Gisane,” she told Akio’s feet, knowing they wouldn't really hear her. They shook at her in acknowledgement, like a wave. “Good luck,” she laughed fondly, tapping them with a hand. With that, she tossed a few coins at the bartender and stood. She looked over, catching Hirako’s eye again. She nodded, still smiling, and he lifted his glass to her again.

It gave her already cheerful mood a boost, and her smile was wider and brighter than she could feel as she left. Walking back was a sweet haze. Booths had been set out for the night, food and games and trinkets, all the sellers hawking their wares with uncontained enthusiasm. Lanterns glowed on thick string, laced across the streets. She saw Gisane come running past with a few guys from the Eleventh, but when she opened her mouth to ask, she was cut off with an, “I'll tell you later!” And a quick grin. A second look showed they were being pursued. By more guys from the Eleventh.

Huh. No surprises there.

Natsumi continued on her way, passing laughing children, carrying goldfish in crystalline bubbles of water, lovers walking arm-in-arm, and students causing mayhem. It was a warm thing, she thought, happiness. Basking in golden lantern-light and blue darkness, soft laughter and ebbing commotion. She had probably been wandering for awhile, but she didn't have the heart to stop. She was still considering her options. She only had one more day to choose a Division before Graduation. 

“Takanayo!” Natsumi frowned, wondering who could possibly be calling her. She had seen Gisane not half an hour ago, very busy, and she knew for a fact that Akio was currently behind a bar with a bubbly redhead, making out like her life depended on it. Turning, she was somewhat annoyed to find Captain Hirako. 

“Should’ve guessed,” she muttered to herself.

“What's that?” He asked, catching up to her.

“Have you been following me this whole time?” She asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him. He winced a little, and she thought  _ ha. Caught _ .

“Not too long. Just had to ditch the old man and catch up with you.” She raised an eyebrow. Old man? She supposed it must be hard to think of Kyouraku as anything else, no matter how old you were- he was at least a thousand years old, after all. No way was Hirako on his level.

“And why on earth would you do that?” She asked, watching his face shift from a strange sheepish half-grimace to a more familiar smirk.

“You've got two days,” he said smugly. “Figured I’d press my advantage.”

“Advantage?” She laughed despite herself. “What advantage would that be?”

“Well, I figure the fact that we've actually spoken before kind of counts. Also, you did promise to think about the Fifth.” He fell into step beside her, slouching with the best of them. 

“If I recall, I was about to enter a duel to the death- er, unconsciousness,” she corrected, eyeing him sideways from under her hair. “Can you really trust anything I said in that state of mind?”

“Can I trust anything you say in any state of mind?” He countered, and she was startled to hear the steel in his tone. She stopped.

“Why wouldn't you?” She asked, sounding more than a little hurt. “I like to think I'm a pretty honest person.”

“But are you?” He pressed. Natsumi met his eyes, unsurprised to find them a sharp and intense as before. She doubted he was anywhere as drunk as most people would like to think. If he drank with Kyouraku often, he would have to have a pretty high tolerance. “You've got an awful lot of power stored up in there,” he poked one long finger at her chest, landing somewhere between her collarbones. “Can I trust you to use it for good?” 

She didn't look away from him. Could he trust her? She felt like saying yes, immediately and confidently. She wanted him to trust her. She wanted him to think well of her, for some reason. But that was wishful thinking. The truth was that she didn't know. She didn't know hardly anything. She didn't even know the limits or extent of her own power. She wondered what was so special about her mishap with his wards, what it was about her power that could so easily key into his own. She simply didn't  _ know _ . If she lied, she was certain he'd know. His finger was still pointed at her chest, his eyes still locked fiercely on hers, examining her, growing more suspicious by the moment. She had to say something, and soon. 

She settled for the truth.

“I want to do the right thing,” she said finally, dropping her eyes and exhaling a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. “I can't guarantee I will, can't even guarantee I'll know the difference.” She looked up again, her gaze just as fierce and uncompromising as his. “But I can damn well try, right?”

He smiled. It was soft, touched by pride and fondness, and no small amount of surprise.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, still smiling. “Yes you can. Your honesty is appreciated, Miss Takanayo.”

“You still want me in your division?” She asked, a rueful smile breaking her fierce visage. “I've been told I'm trouble. And I'm a very average student.” She paused, scrunching up her face. “Actually, I'm a pretty average everything.”

“Miss Takanayo,” he said, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. “I don't think you're an average anything.” Natsumi’s head snapped up almost against her will.

She was silent, just standing and looking up at him. He looked down the two inches between them to see what she was doing, and found her looking at him with an expression halfway between shock and gratitude, those green eyes wide and half-full of tears. Shinji panicked. He was good with anger and humor and kicking ass,  not so much with powerful recruits who began crying when complimented.

“Oh shit, kid, what's- you need a tissue or something? Shit,” he scrambled to his haori, as if he expected there to be pockets or something. She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Listen, um, I don't know what I said or if you, I mean I don't-” She shook her head, and put a hand over his mouth, more gently than he might have expected. 

“With all due respect, Captain,” she said fondly, “just shut up.”

“Hey,” he objected, pushing off her hand as if suddenly remembering his position. “If I am your captain you gotta respect me! I ain't taking in any anti-establishment cases!” He was relieved to see her laugh, on much more familiar ground now.

“No,” she agreed, “that would be my roommates.”

“You got roommates? Damn, I used to have those. What were their names,” he was muttering now, thinking back to his own Academy days. 

“How long ago was that?” She laughed, tears all but gone. “A thousand years ago?”

“Oi!” He yelped. “You're getting uppity, Takanayo! I am nowhere near that old! I am a young, red-blooded man in the prime of his, er, uh,” he stammered, looking for the right word.

“Afterlife?” She offered, and he nodded.

“Prime of my afterlife!” He agreed loudly, and she began to reevaluate her judgement. Maybe he  _ was _ drunk. The walk back to the dorms was pleasant, the two of them exchanging jabs. Banter came easily. It was when they actually reached the Academy that things got strange. 

“Look! This used to be so hard!” He tried to jump up and touch the top of the gate to the Academy dorms, and when he fell, splayed out flat on his back, she felt fairly certain.  _ Drunk _ .

“You should be careful, Captain,” she grinned. “Old men shouldn't be engaging in rigorous activity. Especially not when they've been drinking.” He snorted, still lying spread-eagle on the ground, dust and dirt probably ruining the white captain’s haori he wore. Nevertheless, he seemed unbothered.

“Nonsense!” He shouted, raising one fist. “Prime of my afterlife!”

She noticed he didn't make any moves to get up, however. 

~(@)~

The next morning was just as entertaining as she had expected. Gisane had slunk in very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on how you defined it, waking Natsumi just long enough for her to grunt out a “Hey.” Waking again, this time at a decent hour, she found Hirako splayed out on Akio’s bunk like he was still an Academy student, free of responsibility and worry. She smiled fondly when she noticed the suspiciously familiar white fabric rolled up into a makeshift pillow. 

“Captain?” She poked him. “I'm pretty sure you have better things to do today, Captain.” She poked him again, this time harder, and was rewarded by his flailing.

“I’M UP,” he yelped, sitting up hurriedly. “Oh. You're not Hiyori. I usually pass out in her office.” He seemed almost childishly confused.

“No,” she agreed. “I'm not Lieutenant Sarugaki. But you did pass out in my roommate’s bed.” He looked around again, nodding.

“Sorry bout that,” he said, scratching his head. “I swear I'm more dignified than that.” He looked up at her sheepishly. “Usually.”

“It was weird as shit seeing a Captain get drunk,” Gisane offered her input from the other room, popping around the wall to look at him. “You're a happy drunk.” He grinned at her.

“This your roommate?” There was far too much glee in his voice for her comfort. Natsumi rolled her eyes.

“One of them,” she agreed. “Let me guess, you'll be fishing for embarrassing stories?” Gisane reached a hand around the wall and made a ‘gimme’ motion. She began diving through her pockets for anything left over from the night before.

“Good luck with that,” Gisane laughed. “Takanayo might be sweet and unassuming, but she can hold her alcohol. She has all the embarrassing stories about  _ us _ .” Hirako looked almost disappointed at this news, while Natsumi pulled a coin purse from what looked to be the deepest pocket in existence.

“Thank god for small miracles,” Natsumi drawled in response, flicking a coin at her. “What happened last night?”

“Oh, with the fire or the stampede?” Gisane asked nonchalantly, catching the coin. Hirako looked between them with more than a little confusion.

“All of it, I guess?” Natsumi shrugged. “Last I saw, you were being chased by the Kenpachi’s lackeys.” Gisane laughed, not a hint of shame or fear in her eyes.

“Good times.” She shook her head fondly, dragging a too-thin comb through her very thick hair. “Okay, so you remember how Mako and Seichi are tossing in with the Eleventh right?” Natsumi nodded, counting the coins still in her purse. “Well, Mako decided the best way to get the Kenpachi's attention would be to steal his sword.” Hirako made a choked noise. Gisane grinned, feral and sharp. 

“Exactly. So he takes the sword when the Kenpachi’s drinking, yeah? And I'm all for it, that boy needs to be knocked down a few pegs, so I immediately point him out and tell them to stop him. Which is when Seichi falls over someone else’s foot, knocks down a whole tray of food, and ends up face-to-boobs with the barkeep’s daughter, who screams. So on the one side we’ve got Kenpachi and his guys gunning for ‘sword thief Mako’ with their murder faces on, and on the other we’ve got this vengeful barkeep and his six sons all after ‘pervert Seichi’ with swords drawn and a damages bill that needs to be paid.

“So naturally, I grab ‘em both and start for the door, only I've got this pushy recruit who's probably headed right for the Maggot’s Nest asking me out every five seconds, so he's after us too. And I make it to the door, and I toss Mako out first, and I tell him to run for the Red House right? Where else are you going to go if you don't want Kenpachi eating you alive? No self-respecting prostitute is gonna grass out a guy who might end up a client, and especially not to someone who’s been barred from the place forever. I toss Seichi in the other direction and tell him to head for the barn, so he can hide in the rafters all easy-like. I grab this guy from the Eleventh and send him after Seichi by telling him that's where the sword thief ran, and I do the same with the barkeep and Mako. So I've got everyone running the wrong way, and I toss the creep following me at the Kenpachi, and I shout that he's the thief. So while Kenpachi is menacing this guy, I head for the barn and round up all the cows I can find.

“Seichi’s a farm boy, by the way, grew up in the Fifteenth district where they grow cabbage and shit, so he's a fair hand with livestock, and together we get all the cows into the barn. And so up comes half the Eleventh, I shout for him, and Seichi opens the gates for the cows. So we've got all these angry swordsmen screaming and running up Main Street being chased by this stampede, right? Only that's the first half, because then there's Mako, up at the other end of the road at the Red House, so we set the cows all the way up there, and they burst in like there's no tomorrow. And I've run upstairs with Seichi to rescue Mako from the bar guys. Only he was getting the crap kicked out of him, so we had to get him out. 

“So Mako comes running down the stairs, screaming, with the barkeep and all six sons after him, and Seichi runs up to help him out. The Kenpachi and his guys, meanwhile are trying to deal with these cows, which are still flooding in after them, and there's this fire pit in the middle of the room, right? So I take the burning twig and I light the manure on the cows’ hooves and suddenly not only do we have this fucking stampede, suddenly the cows are on fire, too, and they don't even give a shit they're so wigged. So the guys from the Eleventh look up at Mako and Seichi, screaming, bloody and covered in straw, holding onto the Kenpachi’s sword, with the barkeep and his six sons chasing after ‘em like their lives depend on it, all of them screaming, too, surrounded by flaming cows and prostitutes, and they freak the fuck out. 

“So then I open the front door and let the flaming cows out, and they ended up running up and down Main all night, but then it's just us caught between the barkeep and the Eleventh. The barkeep and his sons left pretty quickly, because who wants to go up against the Kenpachi? Nobody. So then it's just us, the Eleventh, and the smell of burning cow shit, and of course Seichi and Mako are still holding the sword, and the creep is dangling from the Kenpachi’s hand like a rag doll, I'm glad to say. So he looks at us for a minute, and then he starts fucking laughing. Said some shit about guts and respect, and smacked ‘em both on the back before taking back his sword. So that's when I tuned out and decided that riding a burning cow down Main Street was a much more fun way to spend the evening. And it was!” Natsumi was laughing, harder than she thought maybe she ever had, shaking with the force of it. Gisane was nonchalantly applying lipstick like she hadn't done anything wrong in her entire life.

Hirako looked between them both like he wasn't sure who was less sane. He also looked like he’d just had the best and brightest idea ever.

“None of the cows got hurt, by the way. The Red House burned to the ground, but nobody got hurt there, either.” Gisane made a face to the mirror, brushing hair away from her eyes. “Apparently you can cast Kidou on cows so they don't get burned in barn fires.”

“That's how you spend all your nights?” Hirako asked, somewhere between admiring and gleeful.

“Not exactly,” Natsumi was still laughing. “Some nights are even worse.”

“How could there be worse?” He asked, the look on his face telling them both that all he wanted in the world was to know. Natsumi just shook her head.

“I'm going out to find Akio,” Gisane informed them, sweeping out the door, smelling like clover and pitch smoke, but astonishingly not at all like manure, burning or otherwise. 

“Try the bar between the Third and Fourth,” she called after her. “She's probably under the stools with a redhead!”

“There's no way that story was true,” Hirako said after a moment. Natsumi just shrugged. 

“You can never really tell with her,” she mused, playing with a piece of her hair and staring after her roommate. “She really does do some crazy things.”

“Speaking of,” he said, suddenly remembering. “Did you ever give me a real answer?”

“About what?” She asked. He scoffed.

“About  _ what _ ? What do you think? You joining my division or not?” There was a moment of silence, during which he tried his best not to fidget or otherwise give away his nerves on the subject. She twirled the same lock of brown hair, twisting it and untwisting it, wrapping it around her finger. 

The Fifth? She thought, weighing her options and her feelings. On the one hand, the Fifth was respected- known for producing leaders, Kido experts, and overall decent and diligent individuals. Natsumi was… none of those things.  But maybe she could become some of them. Besides that, she  _ respected  _ Hirako, could work with him and follow him very easily. She’d be closer to Aizen, which made a swirling mass of difficult emotion well up in her. Fear, discomfort, fondness, that  _ draw  _ that made her want to smile and be his friend. It was confusing and unwanted and unfortunate. But she liked the Fifth. She liked their goals, their friendliness, their methods. She liked their Captain.

“Yes,” she said, finally, simply, with a smile. “I believe I am.” The relief he felt was crushing. Too intense for some girl he'd just met, but he'd tackle that matter later.

“Great!” He said, that too-wide, Cheshire Cat grin stretching across his face. “So now we just have to arrange the testing process. Some divisions like to do a free-for-all, like the Eleventh, but I'm thinking one-on-one is a good bet for you. And I've seen your schoolwork, so I doubt your administrative abilities are on the line, so it should just be a combat thing…”

“Wait, what testing process?” She asked, sounding rather panicked. He stopped, flipping some of that long hair over his shoulder with a strange hand movement.

“Kid, if you ain't a seated officer, I ain't a shinigami.” His voice was dry, almost teasing, but the look on his face was all business. 

“What if I'm not?” She asked, trying valiantly to get him to rescind his opinion.

“You dueled Hiyori to a draw. You're some kinda seated officer. Suck it up and deal.” It should've sounded unkind, angry, even. Instead it sounded like belief. She looked up at him, meeting those brown eyes again. He was firm, radiating conviction and hope. He looked at her like he expected things of her, like he knew she'd be great one day. She didn't know how to disappoint that.

She sucked it up. She dealt. 

“You just gotta fight eighteen people, and maybe Aizen if you make it that far up.” He looked her over once again, appraisingly. “I think you might, actually.”

“Your faith is misplaced,” she snorted, but nevertheless something in her thrilled at the idea of making it that far. She squished it. Forcibly.  

“Meet me at the Fifth later today, okay?” He asked, sounding entirely too happy about the whole thing. He practically skipped out of her room, blonde hair flowing behind him. He didn't even wait to hear her answer.

“Yeah, okay,” she said numbly, suddenly realizing she'd just agreed to fight eighteen seated officers. She hadn't even graduated yet. She'd just come out of a duel that almost ended in her death! What kind of life choices was she making?

She was going to die.

She sat heavily on Akio’s bed, trying in vain to remember where exactly her life took this abrupt left turn. Was it when she'd agreed to that damn duel? Or when she'd accidentally unwound Hirako’s wards? Maybe when she’d decided to actually fight rather than forfeit. Or maybe even six years ago, when she'd decided to come to the Academy.

Or maybe before that, somewhere between the childhood she barely remembered and waking up half-dead in a field outside the Academy.

The slam of the door opening snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Found her!” Gisane’s overly loud shout viscerally reminded Natsumi of the three drinks she'd had the night before. From Akio’s tortured mumbling, she gathered her roommate had had either a terrible night or a really, really fantastic one. 

“You're on my bed,” Akio mumbled, collapsing facedown next to her. Only her torso and head fit, her legs trailing off the edge in a way that must have been uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Natsumi agreed, standing and pulling her legs up onto the bed with the rest of her. “Before me, so was Captain Hirako.” Akio sat up abruptly, looking rather like an upset, slightly dead, prairie dog. “He said thank you,” she added quickly. He had said nothing of the sort, but Natsumi felt like Akio would be significantly less freaked out if she thought he had. Akio nodded stiffly, then flopped back down and promptly fell asleep.

“Wow,” Gisane said admiringly. “Wish I could do that.” Natsumi caught her eye. It sounded light, like a joke, but there was a hint of true envy to it. Come to think of it, Natsumi had never seen Gisane fall asleep. Either she was awake or had already fallen asleep by the time Natsumi saw her.

“Don't we all,” Natsumi agreed, running a hand through Akio’s silk-fine black hair.

“So?” Gisane asked, that quicksilver flicker in her eye. 

“So what?” Natsumi retorted, as though she didn't already know where this was going.

“So what's the deal with Hirako?” Gisane pressed. Her arms crossed, that thick, dark hair pulled up, her eyes focused and sharp- Natsumi forgot sometimes that Gisane was actually frightening. Times like this reminded her.

“Wants me to fight all the seated officers to figure out where I am in the food chain,” she offered, walking back to her own bed. Gisane let out a low whistle.

“That's gonna suck,” she observed poetically.

“Mmm.” Natsumi nodded, collapsing back onto her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Definitely.”

“How far do you think you'll get?” Gisane asked, something genuine and curious in her tone. It was a difficult question, she supposed. Most people would demur, brush it off with an “I don't know” or a “we'll see”. Others might boast, shout about how they'd be the strongest of all. But that wasn't why Gisane had asked. 

Gisane was stronger than most of their class- got shuffled into the advanced class faster than Akio, who all but ate books. She was irritated with them and asked to be put back, much to Akio’s chagrin. She could be a seated officer easily, Natsumi knew. She was sharp and clever, though she covered her strength with a coat of mischief and menacing cheer. She just wasn't the ambitious sort. When the time for their exhibition had come, she was content to sit in the stands and watch everyone else make fools of themselves fighting it out. She could probably beat Natsumi in any fight and they both knew it. The question wasn't about that. She knew what Gisane was really asking, though. It wasn't about her strength.

“I'm not going to let them beat me,” she said quietly. Her roommate nodded slowly, shifting her weight to move forward. She walked like a cat, soft and purposeful.

“Better not,” she chastised. “You should fight as hard as you can. Get what you deserve.” Then the solemn expression made way for a malicious smile. “That Lieutenant of yours is kinda cute.”

“Stop,” Natsumi moaned, pressing a pillow over her face to muffle her groaning. “Please stop. He's so suspicious.”

“I always did like the shady ones,” Gisane mused teasingly. “Maybe he's just got some dark secret. Ooh! Maybe he's got a thing for his Captain?”

“Maybe,” she agreed halfheartedly, rolling her eyes. 

“Are you agreeing that Hirako is attractive or that Aizen has a thing for him?” Gisane asked, hooking onto the single word like a dog on a scent. 

“Please. Stop,” Natsumi begged. Gisane pouted, and she dropped the pillow and sighed. “There's just something… off about him.”

“Off how?” Her roommate tilted her head, curious and intrigued. 

“You know how I can project?” She asked, biting her lip. Gisane shuddered, like she was shaking off a ghost. 

“Yeah. Freaked me right the fuck out first time I felt you do it.” It had. She'd jumped about a foot when Natsumi’s reiatsu had brushed up against her. Gisane herself had strange reiatsu, clear and mirror-bright. It was reflective and smooth as glass. It reminded Natsumi of Ichimaru sometimes, and she shivered at the thought. 

“His reiatsu… it's different.” She shook her head, brow furrowed. “There's this brown, and it's his, but it's like someone else’s reiatsu latched onto him and never let go. It's white, shimmery, like a pearl.” She turned over to look Gisane in the eye. “It’s powerful.”

“So are you,” Gisane countered seriously. Natsumi shook her head doubtfully. Her roommate leaned against the doorway.

“Not that powerful,” Natsumi said, stroking her fingers up and down the edge of her kosode. “Not nearly.” Gisane narrowed her eyes, looking suddenly like a disapproving cat. Natsumi felt… pinned by her gaze.

“The more you say that, the truer it becomes,” she said finally, turning and striding to her desk. Natsumi got the sense that she was failing some test. Gisane shoved things around, pausing for a moment to place her sword gently on her desk. “You’re so strong,” she said after a moment, harsh and upset. “You’re so much stronger than you think, and you just let them walk all over you.” Natsumi bit her lip.

“What do you want from me?” She asked her friend’s back. “I can’t be something I’m not.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing!” Gisane burst out, turning and slamming a hand down on her desk. “You think this is who you are?”

“Who else could I be?” She yelled right back at her. “Who do you think I am?”

“I-,” Gisane shook her head, turning back. Her frustration and hopelessness were tangible. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Not this. You’re not this.” She sat heavily, like a collapsed marionette, every string tying her down.

“But I am,” Natsumi said, quieter this time, running a hand through her hair.  “I’m doing what I can.”

“Not your best,” Gisane accused.

“No,” Natsumi agreed. “But I think you know what my best is like.”

“Use it, then,” she protested. She looked up at Natsumi, so tired. “Please. I can’t stand watching you fail on purpose.”

“I’m not failing,” Natsumi protested weakly, her hesitance returning. Gisane rolled her eyes.

“You might as well be, compared to what you’re capable of.”

“Capabilities?” Natsumi reminded her. “What about you?”

“Common laziness,” Gisane waved her off. “You’ve got way more problems than I do.”

“That I do,” Natsumi agreed, cracking a smile. “But you can’t fix them by making them worse, and that’s all I would do if I let go.”

“So you think,” Gisane pointed out. “Have you ever really, well and truly let go?”

“No.”

“Natsumi-”

“And I’m not going to. I’ll make it as far as I can on what i’ve got, and no further.” Gisane shook her head, but didn’t argue. She recognized a lost cause when she saw one.   
  


~(@)~

Natsumi breathed hard, wiping blood and sweat from her forehead. Third Seat. She’d made it up to the Third Seat. Ichimaru raised his sword again, and she dove for where her own was embedded in the dirt. Shinso snapped out over her, and she reached with a newfound urgency. She emerged unscathed, sword in hand, but she could still feel the breeze of it’s teeth in her hair.

“Again?” Ichimaru asked, politely. Still smiling. Always smiling. It was creepy, Natsumi would give him that, but he couldn’t hide how plainly he didn’t want to be there. Maybe it was the challenge, or the effort, she couldn’t say, but something in the curve of his mouth spoke of a grimace more than a smile, a snarl more than a grin. He wanted this done with, win or lose.

“Always,” she answered, launching herself forward. She struck out fast as his sword extended in her direction, using it as a stepping stone to come down at him from above. Her sword snipped the end of his bangs, gouged a long line of red across his face. Then, with a kick to the side of his head, a fist clutching his robes at the shoulder, and a quick landing, she managed to stand in time to plant her left foot in the dirt and extend her right into his side. Ichimaru went sprawling forward, sword retracting as he did. She pressed the side of her blade to his neck.

“Give up?” She asked, breathing hard, dirt streaking her face and blood leaking through the elbows and side of her academy uniform. She had fought seventeen seated officers before him, making quick, efficient, but very polite work of each of them.

And now Ichimaru.

“Do I have to?” he asked, still grinning. It was real, this time, she thought, as he turned to face her, sitting up just a little.

“I suppose not, but it would make life easier for all of us if you did,” she pointed out. She shrugged, lowering her sword. “And we could be done here.”

“Then I guess we’re done,” he agreed. She reached down a hand to pull him up.

“Sosuke!” Hirako yelled, watching the whole thing with wide eyes and a wider smile. “Come on and get Takanayo to kick your ass.”

“Captain,” Sosuke began, still irritated by his follower’s loss and, perhaps moreso by his easy allowance of the same. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea-”

“You afraid, Sosuke?” He asked, and there was an edge to his voice that was far from teasing, closer to taunting, to genuine maliciousness. “Cause she’s a hell of a fighter. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“That’s not my fear,” he insisted. “What if I hurt her?”

“You won’t,” Hirako said, and the grim confidence, the certainty in his voice scared Sosuke more than anything had in years. 

“Yes, Captain,” he said, sketching a small bow and moving out.

He wasn’t afraid of her, per se. He was afraid of her potential. He craved it, the power he could feel in her, the gentle brush of her reiatsu on his- but he feared it, too. She was quiet, now, gentle and hesitant and unassuming, but he had been the same, once. If she could ascend as he had, if she could fulfill her potential and grow to be his equal- a true equal… It was inconceivable. He refused to consider it. He reached the center of the ring, standing opposite her. She trembled, and whether it was nerves or fear or excitement, he could not say.

“Lieutenant,” she said respectfully, bowing low. She could hardly breathe. Oh god, oh god, a Lieutenant. She’d barely managed Ichimaru, how could she ever handle Aizen?

She was going to die.

“Takanayo,” he returned, bowing back. They unsheathed their swords, Sosuke’s glinting with mirror-fine excitement, hers glistening red with a splash of Ichimaru’s blood. 

He moved first. He had seen the way she’d acted in every other fight, tactical and fast in her judgements. He could not allow her the opportunity to analyze him. He released Kyoka Suigetsu, and she whispered with glee at being out after such a long time. Shrouding himself in mist and reflective illusions, he moved forward, slow and deadly. When he was certain she was caught, facing away from him, he crept up behind her and moved his sword to strike a killing blow-

“Gotcha,” she grinned, his blade caught in her hand, slicing her palm and fingers open. Her blood soon coated his blade. He swallowed, weighing his options. She didn’t let him. Still grinning, eyes narrowed with certainty and purpose, she drove her own sword through his shoulder, her grip strong and her aim true. Sosuke grunted, his left hand grasping in futility at the sword buried in his left shoulder. His right hand holding his sword, he felt trapped. It was a new feeling, but he tamped it down.

He twisted his sword, and she let go with a gasp as he struck out with his sword, catching her across the collarbone. She leapt back, and her sword pulled free of his shoulder. She reached up, a grin spreading on her face.

“Okay,” she panted, pressing a hand to her new cut. “I get it, now.”

She drove forward this time, kicking one leg out from under him, then blocking his half-hearted swing at her, twisting her sword against his until their guards caught. She reached out and punched him in the stomach, and he kicked her knee in response.

The rest wasn’t entirely clear to Natsumi, a swirling blur of dust and blood and adrenaline. In the end, though, they stood across from each other, dripping blood and sweat, growling. 

“Alright, alright,” Hirako called. “It’s a tie, you guys, we’re done here.”

“A tie?” Natsumi huffed, feeling oddly put out by this turn of events.

“So it seems,” Sosuke responded good-naturedly, reaching out one blood-soaked hand. She took it with a smile and a wince. Shinji finally made it up to where they’d been fighting.

“So,” Hirako said, coming up behind her. “I guess I’ve got two Lieutenants.”

“Is that even possible?” Natsumi asked, still breathing hard from the fight.

“Ukitake’s had two third seats for like a century. Pretty sure nobody gives a shit,” Hirako shrugged. She looked to Aizen, who shrugged too and gave her a sympathetic look.

“Great,” she said, voice ringing with disbelief. “I'll just… skip a century or two of experience and head straight up the food chain. That's a fantastic idea.”

“I thought so,” Hirako agreed breezily, purposefully missing the sarcasm flooding from her voice.

  
“He’s like this all the time?” Natsumi asked as he walked away, already sounding tired of it. 

“Always,” Sosuke sighed, patting her shoulder. “Welcome to the Fifth.”

“Thanks,” she said faintly, managing a small smile.

~(@)~

“This is something you really want to do?” She asked him doubtfully, her hands on her hips. 

“You’re my new Lieutenant,” Hirako shrugged, settling to the floor, cross-legged and out of place in his Captain’s haori. “What kinda Captain would I be if I didn’t make sure you weren’t gonna accidentally kill someone with your mind?” Her eyes widened, almost comically huge.

“I can do that?” She whisper-shouted, awestruck and childishly excited.

“Not as far as I know,” he said flatly. She deflated a little. “Sit down, Takanayo.” She folded into the same cross-legged stance just across from him. 

“I thought we were supposed to contemplate our futures tonight, our purpose in life and all,” she said, somehow slipping in a question.

“That’s what we’re gonna do.” He raised an eyebrow and she frowned. "Kind of."

“I thought we were supposed to do it alone.”

“I don’t know, Takanayo, and frankly, I don’t really care.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Last time you meditated alone you nearly set me loose on everyone within five miles,” he told her, a strange feeling welling up in him at the sight of the shame and self-loathing that flashed through her eyes. “I can’t risk that again.” He let the silence stretch between them, let the tension lessen inch-by-inch until it caved under its own weight.

“You’re sure it’s safe for you?” She finally asked, hushed and resigned. Her eyes were down, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Of course it’s safe,” he snorted. “You might be a Lieutenant, but I’m a Captain. You’re still not stronger than me.” She smiled wearily and he reached across to ruffle her hair. “Don’t get uppity on me, pipsqueak.”

“Yes, Captain,” she laughed. She pushed any stray locks of hair he’d dislodged behind her ears, resettled herself, and exhaled slowly. “Okay,” she said, voice even and more confident. “I’m ready.”

“Reach out,” he instructed her, voice solemn and steady. “Reach for me, for now. Just me, mind you.” It took a moment, silent but for their breathing. Then he could feel the cool whisper of her reiatsu against his, soft as velvet and gentle as before. He breathed in rhythm with her, opening the first layer of his defenses to her and setting a bit of his own reiatsu free.

“Oh,” she said, sounding struck. “Is that you?”

“Who else?” He smirked, poking her ice-blue with his burnished gold. She snorted, batting him away. “Now,” he said, reaching for all the control and finesse he possessed. “Do what you did last time, and I’m gonna follow you.”

“Are you sure-?” She began again, and he hushed her with a soft bat at the side of her head.

“I’m gonna help you,” he assured her. “Come on, Takanayo. Think a little better of me, wouldja?”

“You asked for it,” she sighed ruefully. And then she let a handful loose. It was… shocking, he supposed, to be so immersed in her power. It was like being thrown into cold water- just that side of warm, comfortable and soothing, but enough lingering chill to suggest violence and the primality of nature. Cold, white-blue light suffused his senses, the scent of rain cutting through him. The touch of her reiatsu was soft, though, all that force and intensity, strength and power restrained and focused down to a gentle touch at his shoulders. “Okay?” She asked, curling one glimmering tendril of reiatsu around his wrist. Feather-light and kind, the touch dissolved any resistance he felt. Shinji swallowed, shaking off the calm. He snapped his walls down, stiffening his reiatsu, enforcing his boundaries. She crept back, chastened, and he reached out a tendril of his own for her in apology.

“Yeah,” he scoffed, surprised. “More than. You’re a force of nature, ain’t you?” No wonder she made Lieutenant with that kind of power. She’d make Captain one day if she could just learn control.

“Sorry,” she whispered. He shook his head, blonde hair flitting around.

“It’s not your fault. You just gotta hold back more. I’ll teach you some things.”

“More?” She asked, brow furrowing and a frown returning to her face. “I didn’t even let that much out.” He frowned, too, then.

“How much would you say that that was?” He asked thoughtfully.

“Thirty percent?” She suggested. Shinji was puzzled for a moment. He must have heard wrong, right? There couldn’t be any way that that was _ third _ of what she had. She misread the expression on his face, though, because she suddenly began babbling. “Not that I’m trying to say I’m stronger than you or anything, because obviously I’m not, and I’d never hurt anyone, unless maybe they deserved it, because there are people who do, and I’m not strong enough or nearly-”

“Shush,” he instructed her, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Stop. Takanayo.” She stopped.

“Captain?” She asked, only it came out more like “Marphtin?” through his hand.

“Try letting it all out,” he told her, and watching her eyes widen again, he cut her off. “You’ve been holding back so much. You’re wearing out, Takanayo. You can’t hold it all in. Let it all out, and I’ll bet you a thousand kan you’ll come out of it more together than you came in.” She reached up, gently taking his hand and pulling it down from her face.

“What if I go too far?” She asked, solemn and fearful, but there was a tinge of hope in her eyes now. He curled his hand around hers, pressing his other hand to the back of her head. 

“Then I’ll stop you.” She looked away. “Hey,” he turned her chin back towards him. “You trust me, Takanayo?” Shinji almost flinched when she looked him in the eye, her face set and wary. She just watched him for a moment, and he remained still.

“Yes,” she said, finally, firmly.

“Then trust me with you, okay, kid?” He asked, not unkindly.

“Alright,” she agreed, setting her jaw and narrowing her eyes. “Let’s try this again.”

“Alright,” he muttered, his hands still warm on her skin and hair. She closed her eyes, exhaled, and dropped every hold she’d had on her reiatsu.

He reached out, expanding his own wards until they formed a shield, a bubble, locking the two of them in a piece of reality, a contained chamber for her to let go in. When he was certain of his wards, of the security of their cage, he allowed himself to feel her.

It was like being blinded by moonlight. Where before her reiatsu had been a single wave, cool and gentle and rain-soft, this was a tsunami, a storm, an unending radiation of ice-cold  _ power _ . It didn’t smell like rain, didn’t feel like gentle hesitancy. It was as if all the hope and pain and fury, all the despair and desperation he’d ever felt came crashing down on him again- euphoria and paralyzing fear, sadness and unbearable joy- everything. It was  _ everything _ . He could feel his pulse in his fingertips, his eyes, could hear the rush of blood and taste it, too. He felt like he was dying. But then the initial burst faded into a constant, steady stream of calm and contentment. His heart began to beat back down to the slow, steady rhythm of rest. The flush of blood on his tongue was replaced by the scent of flowers, the taste of ice. He looked up, focusing on Natsumi, who had settled into her own power, smiling slightly. Her eyes were closed, too, everything about her relaxed and glad,  _ free _ , as the opalescent shine of her reiatsu flickered over them both. 

“Takanayo?” he asked, raising both eyebrows. She opened her eyes slowly, as if uncertain of where she was. 

“Hm?” She asked, her projected reiatsu coiling back into her, slowly lessening until none of the watery blue light remained. She came back to herself just as slowly. “Captain?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s me,” he assured her, and she sighed, relieved.

“I thought maybe…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You were right.”

“I always am,” he sang, and she rolled her eyes.

“I doubt that, Captain,” she said flatly, her worry fading with his continued antics.

“Yeah, but I was right about you!” He protested, poking her chest. “You’re pretty powerful for an ‘average’ student, eh?”

“I guess,” she said, her expression darkening. “But I don’t know that that’s a good thing.”

“Ehhhhh you’re fine,” he assured her, waving a hand at her. She shook her head at him.

“Goddamn, though,” he said, standing, still a little shocked. He reached out a hand to help her up, and a small, proud smile crept across her face. “Where’ve you been hiding that, Takanayo?” She took his hand, standing. She laughed a little, watching him frantically dust off his white haori, cursing dead leaves and dust like they were living enemies. 

“Hiding it?” She sighed, leaning tiredly against a tree. “ I don’t have a choice. I like having friends who aren’t dead. And besides, it’s not like I’m any good at bringing it out safely,” she said ruefully. “I can’t hardly do anything with it beyond this, and Kido is a chore at the best of times.”

“You any good at healing?” He asked, covertly  watching the way her reiatsu flickered and shone, an uncontainable blue aura, radiating joy and contentment. He wondered, vaguely, if she’d never actually let go so completely before. 

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m decent at anything that just requires… a flow, I guess?”

“You’re crap-all at regulation, then,” Shinji snickered. She groaned and nodded.

“I guess so.”

“That can be fixed,” he offered, a small, menacing smile growing on his face. “I can fix that.”

“Would you please?” She asked, laughing a little. She rubbed her hands over her tired eyes. “I could use some fixing.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning forward to flick her nose. It startled her, half-way between affectionate and condescending, and she wrinkled her nose at him in reply. “We all could.”

“Thanks?” She guessed.

“You’re in my debt forever,  kid,” he drawled, beginning to head back to the Fifth Division barracks. “Repay me with whatever you feel is most valuable.”

“Life experience?” She suggested dryly, hopping over a fallen log. “Or sex?” He squawked and hit his head on a tree branch.

“You’re- that ain’t- what the hell, Takanayo!” He sputtered. “You’re a kid! You ain’t even- how old are you?”

“Huh,” she paused, musing. “You know, I don’t really remember? They found me outside the Academy in a field. Said I was at least twenty. And that was six years ago, so I guess at least twenty-six?”

“You’re a child!” Shinji cried. “Don’t even talk about shit like that! You shouldn’t even know what that is!”

“Yes, Captain,” she agreed in a tone that stated her intention to ignore that order for as long as possible. 

“You ain’t even a fifth of my age!” He said, looking as though the world had just crushed his every dream. He fell dramatically to his knees. “You’re barely a tenth my age!”

“Huh,” she said again, passing him and his dramatics and continuing up the road. “So you really are an old man.”

“Old?” He muttered, clutching at his hair. “Old…?”

~(@)~  
  


Graduation day dawned bright and unkind. Akio literally rolled out of her bed with a loud thump, waking the other two.

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Gisane muttered into her pillow before stretching like a cat and descending gracefully from the top bunk. She reached down a hand to the other girl, who halfheartedly reached for it before giving up and rolling over.

“She alive?” Natsumi asked, still lying down and staring at the ceiling. She turned her head to see Gisane making a so-so motion with one hand, taking Akio's pulse with the other. 

“I'm fine,” Akio said, though the words were muffled by the fact that her face was pressed to the floor. Natsumi sighed and stood. She began to get dressed, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to check on her roommates.

“If you're sure,” Natsumi snorted, tying her Academy uniform closed. 

“I'm sure,” she said to the floor. 

“We ready to do nothing for four hours, listen to people’s names for four more, and then go to fancy dinners that have nothing to do with us?” Gisane asked, eyeing Natsumi in particular. 

“What?” She asked, feeling a touch of panic. “What's that look for?”

“Just thinking,” Gisane shrugged. “You're eating with your Division tonight, yeah?”

“Oh,” she said, stopping. She'd forgotten all about that. She'd just assumed she'd be going to the graduates’ party with Akio, maybe Gisane if she could be convinced to stay. But she was a Lieutenant. Very recently so, but nonetheless a Lieutenant. She would be eating with the Fifth, celebrating with all the other new recruits. She sighed, scraping a hand through her hair. “I guess so. I forgot.” Akio snorted, finally peeling herself up off the floor. 

“Figures- you're the only one of us to be seated right out and you  _ forget _ about it.” She stood, painfully and slowly, and Gisane met Natsumi’s amused glance from across the room.

“Well it’s not like it’s been great fun so far,” she pointed out to Akio. “She’s had to fight twenty people to get there.”

“Ugh,” Natsumi shook her head. “Please, no more fighting. Never again.”

“I don’t think you get to make that choice,” Akio said thoughtfully.

“I don’t get to make any choices,” Natsumi corrected her.

“You get to decide what you’re wearing to Graduation,” Akio suggested. 

“No we don’t,” Gisane corrected her. “Academy uniform until the very second we graduate. From then on, we wear the Gotei uniform.”

“Oh,” Akio said sadly. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Cheer the fuck up,” Gisane scoffed, applying some kind of mascara. “You never know.”

“You always do,” Akio muttered bitterly, looking through Gisane’s lipstick collection.

“That’s because I’m amazing,” Gisane sniffed. “You should know that, at least.”

“We all know that,” Natsumi smiled fondly, sliding a gold pin into Gisane’s hair. “Better look the part, too.”

“Of course,” she sounded almost offended.

 

~(@)~

 

She walked out of the ceremony looking for someone- anyone- she knew.

“Captain!” She exclaimed, nearly running into Hirako.

“You’re coming to the ridiculous pre-Division dinner with me,” Shinji announced to her, about two seconds after he found her.

“WIth everyone?” She squeaked.

“All the Captains and Lieutenants,” he shrugged, apparently not seeing the harm in this.

“Dinner? With the Captains and Lieutenants? She'll be there!” Gisane said, springing up behind them,  her glee obvious. Natsumi seemed to protest, but her roommates’ hands over her mouth made it hard to understand.

“She'll be back in something more formal,” the one with black hair assured him. Akio, he thought? She hadn't been there when he passed out in their room. It must have been her bed he’d slept in.

“I don't need anything more formal!” Natsumi protested, trying in vain to escape her roommates’ grasp. He waved goodbye to them. Natsumi glared at him until she disappeared from view.

He waited, looking at the list of recruits. The Fifth had gotten a lot more this year. He'd be glad of two lieutenants- twice as many hands made much less work. It was a good twenty minutes he spent looking over the file Aizen had handed him, when the door at the top of the stairs opened with a creak.

Shinji didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe the Academy reds still, maybe even a plain yukata like most of the male students were sporting. He was in no way, shape or form prepared to see her in the Gotei uniform.

She stepped down the stairs like Cinderella or something, shy and sweet and prettier than anything. One of her roommates, he guessed, (and dear god would he have to thank them later) had convinced her to wear the uniform the moment she was allowed, and it suited her. Draped in black silk, loose and practical, she looked deadly. She looked like a predator, each soft footstep like the approach of a death itself. It was, he found, the sort of death he'd gladly welcome. With her sword hung at reach by her waist, she looked like the warrior she was- fierce and unwavering. Her pale skin shone, green eyes sparkling with genuine happiness and excitement. Her only apparent concession to the celebration was that her brown hair had been pinned up with a set of hana kanzashi, three lines of blue silk wisteria rippling down the side of her head like rain.

Shinji damn near lost his breath to see her.

She even jogged the last few steps, skidding expertly to a stop just in front of him.

“Do I look alright?” She asked, sounding as breathless as he felt. 

“Yeah,” he coughed. “You look great. Very,” he waved a hand. “Black.”

“I like the uniform,” she pouted. Oh shit. She thought he hated it. ‘Very black.’ Of course she thought he hated it. He wanted to kick himself. Or maybe have someone else kick him. 

“Yeah, no, black’s great! It works for you,” he scrambled. “I've just never seen you wear it before.” She raised an eyebrow. He'd never seen her wear it before because she hadn’t. No shit. That was the worst recovery in the whole world. Of course she didn't believe him. He wouldn't believe himself. “Aw, hell,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You look great. I'm just,” he waved a hand again, at himself this time. “I'm an idiot.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, a half smile sliding across her face. “But you're also my captain.”

And that was the other thing, wasn't it? That uniform made her a true member of the Guard. His subordinate.

“I uh, I thought you might want this,” he said, pulling a wrapped package from under his haori. She took it, curious and open. He watched, tense and hopeful, a large grin waiting to surface as she pulled apart the string holding it closed. 

“Oh,” she breathed, drawing a Lieutenant's badge from the wrapping. It was identical to the one Aizen had, but the band of silk used to tie it was a pale turquoise instead of the usual white. “Captain,” she said, and he grinned at the admiration in her voice. She looked up, tears in her eyes. He felt a sudden flash of deja vu- taken back to two days ago, when he'd complimented her and she'd cried. “Thank you,” she choked out, and she flung herself at him. 

His arms wound around her, somehow surprised to find he was only an inch or two taller than her. She buried her head in his shoulder. For a moment, he soaked in her warmth, felt the resonance of her reiatsu trembling at the edge of his own. She smelled like rain, some kind of flower. He had to make a conscious effort not to melt into her grasp, to relax into the grip of her hands on his back. He'd never actually been _this_ close to her, and he was ashamed to say how much he was enjoying it. 

“That is  _ highly _ unprofessional,” Gisane said from behind them, at the top of the stairs, and he tried to stifle a sigh at the way Natsumi immediately jumped back, as if burned. It wasn't uncommon for a commanding officer to comfort their subordinates, but he supposed it was easy to misconstrue a hug like that.

If you could call it a misunderstanding. Now that he thought about it, she was kind of crying on his shoulder. He frowned.

“You alright, Lieutenant?” He asked, and the smile that lit her face at the reminder of her rank was worth anything. 

“I'm fantastic, Captain,” she assured him, and he was glad to hear the warmth in her voice.

“Yeah, you are,” he agreed, laughing at the bright flush that lit her face.

“ _ Inappropriate _ ,” Gisane sang, snagging Natsumi through the crook of her arm and dragging her away. “Now where's this dinner? I want to ask Captain Unohana what she does to scare everyone in the Eleventh.”

“Oh god,” Natsumi sighed, grimacing apologetically at her Captain. “I'm sorry about,” she gestured to Gisane. “This.”

“Eh, don't worry about it,” he laughed, keeping pace with them easily. “It's nice to have young people around.” He froze for a moment, remembering exactly how young she might be, and she snorted at him.

“Young, he says,” she muttered. “More like insane.” 

  
“That too,” he agreed cheerily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. so idk if anyone cares/has noticed, but I've finally done most of the plotting/rearranging for this story, and there should be around 77 chapters. Maybe more, but right now that seems to be the score. 
> 
> 2\. Also, I just wrote about 7-8,000 words of smut for one of the later chapters, so dear god do I hope I make it that far bc damn. I put a lot of effort into that. 
> 
> 3\. I rewrote the first two chapters to make them more cohesive with the tone of the rest of the story. They're not much longer than they were before, so if you were a little off-put by the difference in tone, try rereading them. I guarantee they're at least a little better now. Also, the prologue in particular is much less cryptic and much more relevant.
> 
> 4\. Thanks to the three (now four!!) people who gave me kudos. You're three (four) of the reasons I'm even still putting effort into this.


End file.
